Just a Doll
by StickieBun
Summary: Late one cold, snowy evening, Undertaker happens across yet another dying human, and the circumstances surrounding this death grabs his attention. So, rather than ignoring the human, he wondered if he could make a living person into one of his Bizarre Dolls... UndertakerxMale!OC Cover art by K-Koji on DA. RP-Fic with Undertaker's Madness.
1. Failed Sanctuary

**AN:**Written RP-style. _Undertaker's Madness_ as Undertaker, William, and Eric. _StickieBun_ as Jase, Alan, and Ronald. Grell is passed between the two of us as needed.

Disclaimer: We do not own any recognizable characters and only explore the possibilities.

OC Jase Dubois Copyrighted to me.

Some of you may know that I have been talking about my Kuro OC lately. Well, This is him. Jase Dubois. I won't say much about him here as you'll learn about him as you read, but I do hope you like him! I rarely actually ask my readers to review. After all, though I love reading comments and replying to them, people will comment if they want to. However, with this particular Fic I would really like to know what you guys think. Jase being a main character makes me a little nervous (But very excited). I haven't featured an OC in this way since I was new to Fanfics and was writing Mary-sues. (Ahhh don't ask about that! its a dark time I'd rather forget.) Anyway. Please comment/review with your thoughts on my OC, if nothing else. (Though comments about the plot and events and Undertaker are all very welcome as well!)

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**Just a Doll **

**Chapter 1/Prologue  
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The evening air was bitter as fresh snow slowly fell, blanketing the mostly empty streets of London. The young priest, new to the priesthood, could see his breath even within the walls of the church as he put out the flames that flickered and slowly melted the red wax of the candles. He wasn't one to complain; but he was anxious to get back to his room and light a fire in the hearth, curl up on his simple bed and read over a few passages in his Bible.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the heavy doors to the chapel creaking open suddenly, almost slamming open, and successfully catching the priest's attention. He spun around in time to see a woman slump to the floor. Quickly, Jase ran over to her, picking her up and guiding her over to sit on a pew. "My child, are you alright?"

The woman shivered and looked up at him, her hair falling out of her blood splattered face. Her appearance shocked Jase, and his hand jerked back from her shoulder.

"I fear… I will not survive this night… they are coming." The woman coughed.

"Dear child, you are safe now. You are in the house of God. You have sanctuary."

The woman laughed, "Oh, poor naive human, There is no sanctuary in this day and age. God cares not for your kind, and least of all mine." She reached a bloodied hand up and pressed it to his cheek, "This place is just a building. It is not safer for me or you as it is any other building."

"My child, have faith, God will protect you. You have not come here by accident. He hath guided you to safety."

"You follow blindly, priest. God cares only for the pure."

Her eyes began to glow, but Jase had turned away from her, the heavy wooden doors had suddenly flown open a second time, breaking off their iron hinges and sliding across the stone floor. An unpleasantly warm light blinded and engulfed him.

The woman screamed and Jase reached out blindly, feeling around for her until his fingers brushed by her arm. He grabbed it and pulled her to the front of the church, bumping into and tripping over pews as he ran blindly. He felt for the door to the passageways behind the chapel and opened it, pushing the woman through first as he felt a burning hand grab him and yank him back into the heart of the light.

"Dear Lord, what is all this?" he whimpered as two heavenly silhouettes of light leaned over him.

"_Daemon creatura, quomodo audes ne opus Dei_." The voices echoed from unseen lips and a hand reached out, grabbing his face across his eyes, "_Da nobis auxilium purgat se impuro mundi. Purgant, purgare, purificare in nomine Domini_."

Jase screamed, it felt as if fire was spreading across his entire body and seeping into every fiber of his being. He thrashed out, desperately trying to escape the fire that burned deeper within him. "Seigneur, Seigneur Dieu! S'il vous plaît! S'il vous plaît me sauver de cet enfer!"

As quickly as the heavenly messengers had appeared, they were gone again and Jase found himself laying face down under the wrecked altar, Puddles of Wax on the floor where candles had fallen, and the large carved cross that normally hung on the wall had fallen to the floor and cracked in half, inches away from his reach. Whimpering, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees. He trembled, his blood feeling like it was boiling, causing his normally pale skin to flush. His blue eyes gazed down at the fallen cross, "Pourquoi, mon Seigneur … Pourquoi?" He gasped, tears streaked down his cheeks as he breathed hard.

He collapsed again, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth, and his vision blurring as he lay unmoving upon the cold stone floor. Was this the end? Had God deemed him unworthy of finishing his life upon the earth?

-x-

A man dressed all in black walked the chilled streets, with his head bowed in thought and his booted feet leaving no trace of his passing in the snow. His silver hair fell past his waist, pale like spider's silk but thick and heavy as a cloak. The fringe of his bangs was long, feathering over his face to conceal his eyes from public view. He was a very busy man, that night. His plans hadn't gone quite as expected, and as a result he needed to move his business elsewhere.

He heard the screams as he approached the chapel, but he didn't immediately react. A man's scream in London at this hour wasn't ordinarily something to perk his interest. He was used to the sounds of human anguish, whether it be brought about by physical pain or emotional. This one was special, though. It drew his attention and gave him pause. There was an unusual quality to the scream. Such anguish…such betrayal. These were part of human existence, true, but there was something altogether new about this one, and he couldn't quite place a finger on what it was.

Undertaker started to pass by the building, but he stopped at the gates of the chapel and he stared thoughtfully. Curiously, he reached out with his senses. He instinctively tensed—just a little—when he detected a demonic presence. His tension gave way to puzzlement seconds later, when he also detected the divine aura. While there were usually hints of such on sanctified ground, this one was stronger…more specific.

"Angels," muttered the retired reaper. He began to grin. "And demons, too! My, my…what a pretty bit of intrigue this is. What might I find if I have a peek inside?"

He didn't sense any danger, and the only sound coming from the other side of the broken doors was the pitiful groans from a mortal throat. He could sense the life ebbing from the poor sod, and his curiosity got the better of him.

"Well," sighed Undertaker, "I won't find out standing out here, and I do have things to take care of."

Prudent enough to respect the danger he could be walking into if his senses were a bit dodgy, he manifested his scythe before pushing the wrought iron gate open. He walked up to the steps, moving with an eerie silence that would have given him away as a non-human, if anyone with the sense to know better had been watching. He saw splotches of red in the snow and on the steps, indicating that someone had entered the building after being injured. He knelt to examine them, and he saw footsteps leading away. Whomever had come to this place for sanctuary left in a rather big hurry.

Having a deplorably droll personality even in the most serious of circumstances, Undertaker knocked on the arching, heavy oaken doorframe with the heel of his scythe. "Hellooo," he crooned. "Is there anyone alive in there?"

He heard another groan.

"I shall take that as a 'yes', then." Undertaker took his hat off and stuck it through the door slowly, just in case. When nothing attacked it, he shrugged and slipped inside. He found himself standing over a fine mess. The spots of blood he'd noticed outside had multiplied in here, and there were smears of it as if someone had slipped in it on their way out. Pews lay overturned, and the altar lay in ruin. Lying near a pew on his belly was a man wearing priestly robes, and Undertaker presumed the noises had come from him. There was no sign of anyone else. There was some blood on his hands, and he appeared to be caught in the act of reaching for a broken, carved cross that had fallen to the floor.

A candle lay on its side nearby, slowly rolling toward the suffering human. Undertaker nearly let it reach him, curious to see how he would react if his garments caught fire. He was, however, more curious to discover the cause of his moaning and find out what had happened in this place. The human was very close to death, and he wouldn't get his answers from a corpse.

"Well, not easily, anyway," he amended under his breath.

Undertaker knelt down beside the young man, and he rolled him over with a gentleness that contradicted his callous words. He was an attractive sort, with chestnut hair and lovely blue eyes. Currently, those eyes were wild and staring in a face spotted with blood and pale with agony.

"Hi-hi," greeted Undertaker with a bright smile. "Can you hear me?"

The young priest seemed to choke on blood as more splattered across the grey stone under him. His pale blue eyes flickering up to look at the man he hadn't noticed until that point. He reached out a shaking hand, his blood-splattered fingers grazing over the flowing dark robes the reaper wore, and his voice left his lips in a cracked gurgle, "R-run…my child—not s-safe…" he gasped and coughed, growing weaker as his body collapsed, his hand falling to the floor, leaving a smear of blood on the stranger's clothes.

Undertaker clucked his tongue with amusement. "If you knew to whom you spoke, I don't think you'd be addressing me that way. Your death is approaching fast, young priest."

He caught up the candle that was still attempting to roll toward his suffering new acquaintance, and he pinched the flame out, before setting it aside. He looked around and he sucked his teeth absently, still keeping hold of his scythe, just in case. He should probably leave this human to his fate, but he sensed something in him that he couldn't understand. The flame of his soul seemed to burn brighter than most, and it wasn't showing signs of weakening with his body.

"What did this to you?" pressed Undertaker, lifting the fringe of his bangs to peer around without the veil. When he received no answer from the human, he looked down at him again. He was unconscious.

"Hmm, what's a reaper to do?" he mused. "Leave you here for some Dispatch officer to collect, or see to your injuries and try to get some answers from you?"

He considered the young man for a few moments, aware of his shuddering breaths. That wonderfully bright soul of his would fade eventually, and then he'd never find out what happened. He was immensely curious, and since he no longer ran his business as usual, he needed some form of entertainment.

"I could raise him," he muttered, but he shook his head a moment later. "But that wouldn't be very productive. My Bizarre dolls can barely string a single sentence together, and they never recall a thing from their pre-mortem lives. What to do, what to do?"

He looked at the young man again, and a strange, wonderful idea came to him. "But, I've never tried to make a _living_ subject into a dollie before. Perhaps that's the key. You can't create eternal life from an empty shell. The souls weren't intact. The records were fakes. What if I were to leave the _true_ records intact, and simply…edit them?"

He smiled at the dying priest. "What if I were to erase your death entirely, so that you could live forever? Would you like that?"

No answer was forthcoming from the human, and Undertaker shrugged. "Well, I gave you the opportunity to say 'no'. It's hardly my fault you didn't answer."

He banished his scythe, gently scooped the priest into his arms and lifted him. It wouldn't do to jar him too much, before he could get him to his new place of operation and begin.

He needed to move quickly, or he would lose him.


	2. Transformed

**Just a Doll **

**Chapter 2**

Sunlight shown in through a small window that looked like it hadn't been cleaned for years. Dirt and dust caked the glass and hindered a clear view through it, cobwebs clung to the corners of the frame, and yet, the light that did manage to shine through it and fell over the young priest's face was bright enough to disturb his sleep. Groaning, the rather short young man turned his head and opened his eyes, blinking away the blur of slumber and taking in his rather grim surroundings. He found himself stripped down to not but his underpants, and he lay in a silk-lined coffin. Slowly, he sat up, his light blue eyes, now swirled with a darker blue with his pupils a small dot that was barely visible, scanned the room. It was small, with tables and candles lining the walls, crude surgical tools lay in trays, and jars of—he didn't want to know—lined the shelves. His head ached and he closed his eyes again, feeling numb to everything as he pressed a pale hand to his forehead, and growing alarmed at a thin raised line under his bangs. It felt like a cut, with stitches holding the skin together.

Gasping, his fingers followed the scar around finding it to wrap around his head completely. Just what had happened to him? Where was he? Why wasn't he at the church? It was Sunday morning…wasn't it?

And that's when the memories came flooding back. The woman in need of sanctuary…and her pursuers…angels? They had shown so pure—so bright…they had to have been messengers of God. But why would they attack him? What had they done to him? Hurt and betrayal settled in upon his heart, and he clutched his chest. He had devoted his life to God…and God's own angels…had nearly killed him? And for what? Saving a woman in need?

Undertaker came down the stairs silently when his sharp ears detected the sound of despair. His new dollie was awake, how lovely. The young man was sitting up in the coffin, feeling around his scalp in the manner that reminded Undertaker of someone searching for a bug he'd found in his hair. The confused, half-panicked look on his face gave him hope.

He was sentient. He had a sense of "self" that the others always lacked. Undertaker couldn't see him clearly enough to tell the details from this distance, but he imagined those nice blue eyes of his had changed as well, during his final stage of transition. He grinned broadly as he plucked the tool that made it all possible from his pocket, and he tapped it lightly against his open palm.

Through his records, Undertaker had seen what happened to him in the chapel. He thought he understood, but he wondered how much of it the priest himself comprehended. His dollie hadn't noticed him, yet. Perhaps it was time he made his presence known, and find out just how much of his sentience the priest had retained.

"Good morning, Jase," greeted Undertaker lightly. "How's the noggin feeling?" It then occurred to him that he might not understand his words in English as the man had proven to be a Frenchman, so he asked the question again in French, minus the slang.

Jase started and turned slowly to look at the strange man with long white hair. His swirled eyes were wide and his mouth gaped open a moment before he finally spoke, "…It hurts…" he paused, taking the man's appearance in more. He wasn't sure…but he thought he'd seen this man before blacking out…had he saved him? "And I do speak English…But pardon my curiosity…who are you?"

"Me? I'm your creator. Well, not your _original_ creator, but I did give you this new life." Undertaker brushed the death bookmark against his cheek, tilting his head. "Hmm, your speech doesn't seem crippled by your transition. I half expected you to lose your second language, but you've retained it. That's wonderful! I admit, my French is a bit lacking."

He approached him swiftly to get a better look at him. He could see him more clearly, now that he was close to him. He'd cleaned up the stitches nice and tidy, but there was a little blood leaking sluggishly out of one of them, over his left brow. He grabbed a square of gauze from the instrument tray and he wiped it away. He brushed aside the rich brown locks of hair that fell over it, and he smiled.

"Let me have a look at those eyes." He grasped the young man's jaw firmly, but not roughly, and he turned it toward the light coming in through the basement window. The overhead light would probably be too intense for him. Undertaker passed a hand over the left eye, then the right, testing the pupil reactions.

"Good papillary response," he murmured, nodding. He blew into his dollie's ear, without warning.

Jase gasped and pulled away, "It isn't right to judge any of God's people but…are you a madman?" he asked, covering his ear with his palm, "What do you mean by 'creator'? Surely you don't believe yourself to be God?"

The priest rubbed his ear. The reaper's action, though childish, had been alarmingly loud in his ear…and it had upset his headache.

Undertaker snickered softly with delight, finding the question unreasonably funny. "Most people don't even bother asking me that. Madness is a matter of opinion, as far as I'm concerned. Good reactive response."

He took out a notepad and scribbled down his results, thus far. Seeing the frowning look he was getting, he decided to offer more. "God? Alas, no. I was made by the same creator as you, originally. I'm old as balls now, though."

He put the pad of paper away and he gazed into Jase's swirled blue eyes. "I brought you from the brink of death, and you could very well live forever, now. Isn't that splendid?"

The former human raised an eyebrow, "While I don't doubt you saved me, it is impossible to 'live forever'. We must all face Judgment by the Lord when the time comes. And I do thank you for saving me, but I should be going…" Standing up, or, attempting to, at least, Jase's knees buckled under his weight and he found himself crumpled to the floor at the reaper's feet.

"Here now," said the reaper, kneeling down to grasp his dollie's arms and haul him to his feet. He held him at arm's length, supporting him despite his weak, confused struggles. "It's a bit too early for that. Your body needs time to adjust and regain strength. My, you're a bit mouthy for a doll. I wasn't quite expecting that, but I suppose I should have, seeing as I made you to retain your sentience."

Undertaker put him on the examination table and he held up his hand to halt him when he looked like he might try to climb off of it again. "Don't be a stubborn chap. You wouldn't even make it up the stairs. Now then, you asked me for a name, I believe."

He removed his hat and he gave a courteous bow. "You may call me Undertaker. He looked up at him from his hunched over position with a grin, his dual-colored eyes flashing with intrigue behind the silver veil of his bangs. "Don't worry about the stitches. They'll heal up with time, though I daresay you'll have some scarring. It's a small price to pay for eternal youth, eh?"

The reaper then straightened up and considered the doll, who was now beginning to look more frightened than confused. "Oh, don't be that way." He retrieved his bookmark from his robes and showed it to him. "You see this? It's what made it possible for me to save you, and it's pink!" The young man didn't seem as delighted with the color as Undertaker. The reaper sighed. "Right. I suppose the color isn't going to impress you…not when you can't even understand what a death bookmark is. We'll discuss that later. Right now, I think I should see to your well-being, if I don't want you to end up as a failure like the rest of them."

He leaned in close, and he combed his bangs out of his eyes to reveal his strange, double-iris gaze and pale features to the former priest. "Now you know the face of your benefactor, Mr. Dubois. Listen closely, because I'm only going to tell you this once. I need you to be very specific with me, and tell me what hurts, how severely it hurts, and what you remember of your ordeal before I found you. If you want me to relieve your suffering at all, you'd be wise to cooperate."

Jase sat stunned; the man before him hardly gave him a chance to speak from the time he was on the floor, to the time he reviled those strange but stunning eyes that just about made the breath catch in his throat. So deep, those pools of emerald and gold, so—powerful and wise—so ancient. They reminded him, in a way, of when he got to read the pages of a book or scroll generations older than even his grandfather. What secrets they held—certainly such eyes should be impossible. Never had he seen such interesting eyes—wisdom and power aside. The brightest of green lined thickly in gold. Surely no human could possess such eyes. And yet, what had the man said earlier? He couldn't quite remember, as he'd been distracted by his situation, but he had said something hinting at the fact he wasn't human… an angel, maybe? Devil?

He shook his head, realizing he'd been asked a question and that Undertaker was awaiting his answer. "My head hurts…like it's been split open…and my body's all…hot. Like a fire inside…and…" he paused, unable to hold back his question, "Are you an angel..? Or a demon..?"

Undertaker's expression softened into a smile. The young man's question had an air of almost childlike innocence to it, and he felt the faintest stirring of something that might have been pity.

"I'm neither angel nor demon, my diminutive friend. My, you really _are_ a short one, aren't you?" He looked him up and down. He hadn't fully realized it until Jase tried to stand up, but he was probably an entire foot shorter than Undertaker. "Why, I could fit you in my pocket!"

He chuckled with delight at the mental image, but he sobered and reminded himself of the importance of the examination. His special dollie could expire on him from neglect, if he did not take the proper steps to ensure his survival and recovery process. Jase's cheeks were flushed—a sign of a fever—and they seemed to have pinkened more since he revealed his face to him. The skin around his stitches were a little red, which could lead to infection. Reminded a bit of a frightened puppy, he looked into those wary, glass-like eyes, he reached out slowly and spoke in a gentle tone.

"It's all right; I'm just going to feel for your temperature," he assured him. He gently laid two fingers over the doll's forehead, mindful not to touch the tender skin where the sutures were. He frowned at the heat he felt there, and he had no doubt his doll was indeed feverish. He wasn't used to that, but then, all of his previous dollies were made of reanimated, dead flesh. Jase was a different matter. His heart still beat, his organs still worked. The aging process of his cells had been halted, and he was caught somewhere between alive and dead.

"Hmm, right. We'd best see to cooling you off soon," he muttered. "Otherwise the fever could cook your brain, and then you'd be just as mute and witless as the other dollies. I'll make use of a thermometer in a moment to see just how high your fever is in a moment. Right now, we'll take care of the most immediate issues, hmm?"

Making a mental note of his complaints, he went to a nearby shelf and selected a bottle of local anesthesia for the surface pain, some witch hazel extract and a jar of aspirin. He put the items on the nearby instrument tray next to his surgical tools, and he went to the pitcher of water he'd had the foresight to bring down earlier. He took a cracked mug out of the little cupboard over the sink, filled it with water and brought it to the instrument tray.

"Let's take care of the pain around the sutures first, shall we?" He opened the bottle of anesthesia and Witch Hazel extract, before going to the sink to wash his hands. After shaking them off, he put on a fresh pair of surgical gloves and he noticed the way Jase flinched at the snap of rubber, "You're all right," crooned Undertaker. "I'm just putting these on for sanitary purposes, love. I wouldn't want to expose your hurts to more germs than necessary."

His reassurance seemed to calm the former priest somewhat, and Undertaker approached him and applied some of the anesthetic to a square of gauze, first. "This will deaden sensation on the surface, my dear. Once you're nice and numbed up, I'll see to treating the stitches with the astringent to kill off all the naughty germs and chase away infection."

With that said, he got to work. He gently dabbed the numbing agent on the stitched area, and he murmured soothingly to the doll when he flinched reactively. "I know it stings a bit right now, but it ought to kick in right away."

He finished applying it, and he reached for the aspirin and opened the jar. "Hold out your hand for me, Jase. Palm up."

When the doll complied, Undertaker shook out two aspirin into his palm. He closed the jar and offered the mug of water to him. "Here you go. Swallow those down and satisfy your thirst, while the anesthetic does its work."

He watched as the young man did so, and those blue eyes stayed on him as if in fascination until he put the pills into his mouth. His motor control seemed to be functioning correctly, despite the unsurprising muscle weakness. With a bit of time and care, his strength would return and his coordination would improve. Undertaker's gaze was drawn to the way Jase's throat worked as he tilted his head back to swallow the pills, and he found himself admiring the sight in a completely non-clinical way. He looked somewhat like a ragged little castaway, his dollie. His brown hair fell down his back and around his pale shoulders, reaching to just above his waistline. He had a nicely toned, slim build and the play of smooth muscles on his chest and torso wasn't lost on the retired Shinigami.

"Business before pleasure, old chap," reminded Undertaker sternly under his breath. When Jase looked at him questioningly, he smiled benignly at him. "Don't mind me; you'll find I mutter to myself a lot. It's a habit I've picked up as a mortician, you see. I don't get many guests that talk back."

Satisfied that the anesthetic should have done its job by now, Undertaker picked up the gauze saturated with Witch Hazel, and he began to apply it. "There now, you should be feeling a bit better already." He dabbed all the way around the stitches. "I'll get a proper temperature reading when I finish this, and we'll decide what to do after that."

Suddenly remembering that Jase had asked what he was, Undertaker paused and looked into the pretty blue swirl of his eyes again and he debated whether he could handle the information. He was remarkably lucid, for someone that had just awoken from the brink of death. "You want to know what I am, love? Can you handle the answer, if I give it to you frankly?" He wasn't really asking the doll…it was more of an inward question of personal debate, because he was so used to speaking for his clients. He didn't specify as much to Jase, however, and it slipped his mind again that the doll could speak for himself.

Jase lowered the glass, now empty of it's cool refreshing water, and he held it between both hands, rolling it between his palms, "You aren't a devil, luckily. You aren't an angel…which I find myself in relief of, as I'm sure that is the type of being that attacked my person last night—was it last night? Or have I been out longer?" he frowned, realizing that could certainly be the case, "And I'm sure you aren't human…Those eyes you have…they are stranger than the eyes of a goat. But I can't possibly think of anything else you could be."

Were it anyone else, the comparison to a goat might have offended. Undertaker, however, found it hilarious. He burst into laughter, startling the young man on his table, and he stifled it for the sake of keeping his new prize alive and well. "Well, I'm definitely not a goat," he assured him with a grin, "nor do I have any relation to one. To put it plainly, young sir, I'm Death."

Jase stared at him with wide eyes, and Undertaker amended; "Or rather, I used to be death. Ferrying souls to the other side isn't my job, any longer. Now I'm a keeper of the dead. I tell the authorities what killed the bodies they bring to me, and I pretty them up for their special day, before they go to ground. Though I don't have the official title any longer, my nature hasn't changed. I'm still a Grim Reaper; otherwise known as Shinigami, or Death Gods."

Undertaker tilted his head and smiled at him. "In some ways, your old job and mine aren't that dissimilar. We both served the Divine, though our methods were quite different."

He removed his gloves and tossed them in a pail by the table, and then he retrieved a stethoscope from his instrument tray. He tucked the long fringe of his bangs back over his ears to keep them out of the way, and he put in the ear tips. He slipped one hand around behind Jase's back to support his posture and he loomed in close.

"Sit up straight for me now, so I can have a listen." He huffed on the diaphragm to warm it a bit, and then he placed it on the doll's chest, over his heart. "You've been out for three days. I'm frankly surprised you aren't ravenous. Hmm, you really are hot. I may need to consider giving you a cool soak to bring your temperature down."

He listened to the thump of the young man's heart, and he nodded in satisfaction. Nice and steady. "Lean forward a bit," he commanded, and he pressed against Jase's back to guide him. When he complied, Undertaker pressed the instrument against his back and asked him to take a few slow, deep breaths.

The short young man felt overwhelmed with everything, and sat in silence as the reaper examined him. "…So I was supposed to die…and if you are death…is this my afterlife, then?" he bit his lip as the man listened to his heart and his breathing. He turned and looked up at the man, "What am I? A ghost?"

Undertaker finished listening to his lungs and he took the stethoscope out of his ears. "No, nothing like that. A ghost wouldn't have a heartbeat now, would he?" He winked at him, and he put away the instrument. He turned away to get the thermometer out of its case, and he held it up to the light with a slight frown.

"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had to use this thing?" He glanced sidelong at Jase, and he grinned. "Most of the people I operate on don't have a body temperature. I believe this will be my thermometer's maiden voyage."

He approached the table again, and he shook the thermometer gently. "Now open up and say 'ah'," he instructed with a smile, leaning over the smaller man.

The Doll opened his mouth to ask again what he was, but fell silent with a frustrated noise when before he could speak; the thermometer was stuck in under his tongue. He sighed and closed his lips around the item and looked away. Getting answers from this death god seemed to be hit-or-miss when the man wasn't jabbering on and leaving little time for him to speak. It almost made him want to rudely interrupt—almost. Everything was just so new to him. The world was suddenly surreal and confusing.

Undertaker wasn't completely unaware of the poor man's frustration, but he was so fascinated with his success and so determined to make sure that Jase survived his transition, his mind kept veering off to the how's and why's of it, rather than firmly focused on explaining his situation to him. He still had questions he wanted answered himself though, and that incidentally worked in Jase's favor.

"Before I explain everything about how I revived you," Undertaker said, "I'd like to discuss what happened to you further. I saw the events in your mind's eye, you see. Reapers can watch the memories of the dying. I have a theory of what happened to you, and it may explain this un-natural fever you've got."

If not, then the transformation Jase had gone through with Undertaker's help must be the culprit. It was too early to tell, though. He looked him in the eye, and he noticed how he was squinting and wincing against the sunlight that had slowly begun to come in through one of the barred, dirty basement windows at just the right angle to beam on his face. The mortician solicitously moved around to the foot of the table to block it. It seemed his dollie had sensitive eyes, like the rest of them. He might need to employ a blindfold to protect his vision when and if he went outside in daylight.

"Would you like to hear my theory, Jase? Or do you perhaps have one of your own you would rather share with me?"

Realizing he couldn't answer very well with the thermometer in his mouth, Undertaker chuckled. "Ah, where is my head? Why don't you nod once to hear my theory, and twice if you'd prefer to give me your own?"

Jase considered things. If this man really was what he said he was, he likely knew a great deal more about what had changed his fate, especially if he'd seen those memories. So, he nodded once, figuring he could compare the two before he said anything about it himself.

"All right, then." Undertaker hopped casually onto the examination table beside his doll, hardly disturbing it. He leaned back on his hands and he kicked the air absently with his dangling boots, like a restless child. He didn't notice the wary look his patient was giving him as he thought it over and decided where to begin.

"That woman that you tried to help was no woman, for a start," he said with certainty. "At least, not a woman as you know them. She was a demon. Seems to me she managed to attract some divine attention to herself, and not in a good way. For whatever reason, she came to your chapel and when you had direct contact with her, it left a taint on you."

He shook his bangs back out of his eyes and looked at the doll shrewdly. "Angels don't like it when demons touch God's creatures. They were initially coming after _her_, but when they saw her taint on _you_ and saw you try to help her, they didn't take it too kindly. I think your attackers were trying to purify you. Didn't matter if they killed you in the process, so long as they washed away the taint of that demon."

Undertaker hopped back down off of the table and he plucked the thermometer out of Jase's mouth. "Do you think I'm getting warm, love?"

Jase was stunned. He'd helped a demon? And angels didn't _care_ if they had killed him? He felt betrayed again. After devoting his life to God…the divine being didn't even care to preserve his life simply because he followed the belief that all were God's children? He clenched his fists, "I…I had a feeling they were messengers from above…but…I didn't want to believe it… Angels are supposed to be protectors and guides…God is supposed to be love…so why…why did they…I was a devoted servant of the church!" tears welled up in his swirled eyes, evaporating off his cheeks as they fell down his heated skin.

Undertaker frowned—not because the young man was crying, but because of the way his tears were evaporating so quickly from his skin. He looked down at the thermometer in his hand, and when he saw the temperature on it he looked at his dollie with consternation. "Oh, my."

He hastily put the thermometer back in its case. "Stay there. Do not try to move from that table, Mr. Dubois."

Without offering an explanation to him, Undertaker bolted for the stairs leading up to the main floor of the shabby building they were in. He went straight into the bathroom, plugged up the tub and turned the cold water on full-force. There were a few tricks some reapers could do that weren't common knowledge, and he happened to be one of the few who knew them. One such trick was a method he sometimes used to keep the riper variety of corpses brought to him for embalming from necrotizing further before he could work on them.

"'_Cold as death_,' goes the saying," he muttered as he stuck a hand into the water and concentrated. "'_Cold as the grav'e_." Humans used to know he was coming for them by the sudden chill in the air, and the fog he brought with him. He hadn't made use of those little skills on the living in years, but he had more than ample reason to, now.

Jase needed that deathly chill right now, or he would burn up.

The doll sat on the table in the basement, pulling his legs up against his chest and hugging them. Slowly, he leaned over and let himself fall onto his side, the tears still falling from his eyes. It was strange. He should be more upset over the fact that his life was over—that he was now something else—something he still didn't know. But at the same time, he was unable to change that fate and he knew that. Only the betrayal of his God seemed to upset him.

Undertaker returned to the basement to find Jase curled into a fetal position on the table, crying softly. He paused for a moment as he approached, and a strange feeling came over him. Actually a _mixture_ of feelings came over him, both of which he was no longer familiar with. Had he not gone for so long without experiencing them, he would have recognized them as empathy and compassion.

Undertaker knew what it was like to lose faith in one's establishment, and one's beliefs. Years beyond count ago, he had curled up much like that himself while nursing terrible injuries that had scarred him for life. He too had wept the tears of a broken heart and broken faith. Now his mind was fragmented, pushed and pulled in different directions, and the one thing that seemed solid to him these days was the desire to find things to smile about, and the need to understand the key to creation.

Without fully understanding why, he reached out to stroke the young man's naked shoulder gently. "Jase," he murmured, "I'm going to have to pick you up and take you upstairs, now. Your fever is raging inside of you, and you may not survive if I don't reduce it."

The young man nodded, reaching up to brush his tears away, though they never lingered upon his flushed cheeks. He pushed himself back up, and when Undertaker stepped in to scoop him into his arms, he wrapped his own arms around the man's neck ho help support his weight. Jase was small and light, he always had been, and far too many people had picked him up weather he wanted to be or not, simply because they could. He'd grown used to being carried, though it hadn't happened since he'd come to England.

"There's a good chap," approved the reaper as Jase put his arms around his neck. He hardly weighed anything, and he felt unreasonably...good...in his arms—albeit toasty. Undertaker lifted him with care, and he moved as quickly as he could without jarring him.

As Jase was carried up to the cold bath that awaited him, he couldn't help but wonder about his future. What was his purpose? What would he do? Was he alone? Were there others like him? Could he have a normal life—afterlife?

"What is my fate for..?" Jase wondered out loud.

"Your fate has yet to be decided," he murmured truthfully, "but I can practically _guarantee_ you that it's going to be something marvelous. We've just got to get you through this rough spot and stabilize you." He practically floated up the stairs, and he smiled down at the young man in his arms when he appeared startled by the ease of his motions. "Reaper, remember?" teased Undertaker. "Comes with the territory."

He held the doll a little tighter as he pushed the bathroom door open with his foot and squeezed in with him. The water was still running, and the bath was about half-full. There were uneven bits of ice floating in the frigid water, and a cold mist had formed over it. Undertaker looked down at the traumatized little man in his arms, and he sighed. "This is going to be uncomfortable for you, love. I'll be right here, though. Stiff upper lip, right?"

When the doll nodded, Undertaker lowered him into the tub. He supposed he might have stripped him of his drawers first, but there was no time, and he felt like he should be charitable enough to leave him some modesty. His bollocks were likely going to try to crawl back up inside him anyhow, once the icy water touched them.

Tensing, Jase readied himself for the icy water, only to gasp in surprise when he was lowered into it and found he couldn't feel the temperature. He relaxed slightly, feeling no more uncomfortable than he had been on the examination table. Figuring he should probably let Undertaker know, he looked up at him, "I'm…not feeling the cold…" he stated, though the water was starting to evaporate as steam around him

Undertaker's brows shot up beneath his bangs. He submerged the young man completely, and he snatched the towel off the nearby rack. He bundled it up and propped it under Jase's head to cushion it against the back of the tub. "That's...interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to his companion.

He checked his pulse, and he reached a hand into the water to place it flat against his chest, testing the temperature of his skin. The heart rate was steady, but his body was still quite warm—even beneath the water. He noticed the pained expression on Jase's fair, sculpted face when he moved and his shadow no longer blocked the light from the overhead lamp from his eyes. Undertaker looked around and he grabbed the washcloth from the rack he'd taken the towel from. He dipped it into the water—which was hissing and bringing up steam from the contact with Jase's heated body—and he folded it up to place it over the young man's eyes.

"Dollie eyes are sensitive to light," he explained in a murmur. "This might help soothe the ache in your head a bit, and it'll block out the light."

He reached into the water and allowed his cryptic powers to chill it further, forming more ice to counteract the heat that this small being was producing. He really wasn't sure what to do, now. The last time he'd seen a human body heat up like this, it had spontaneously combusted. The thought of his precious new miracle burning up in his arms made him uncommonly anxious. He had succeeded in defying the cycle of death and immortalizing a human, without the use of divine intervention. Now he might lose what he'd gained, if he couldn't figure out how to keep the little priest alive.

"…'Dollie'…is that what I am?" Jase muttered under the wet cloth covering his eyes. Indeed, the darkness did help in relieving his headache, and he relaxed further, "Your Doll?" He thought back to everything else he's been told since he'd awoken, "Am I some unnatural being you created simply to play with?"

Undertaker shrugged. "That's a rather dramatic way to put it, but yes. I created you to see if I could do it." He reached out to caress the doll's heated cheek with the backs of his nails, in the manner of a lover. "You are so much more than a toy, though. You're beyond anything I've ever achieved before, Jase. You, my friend, are a _masterpiece_."

"Am I not alone, then? You have made others like me? Have they survived?" he tilted his head, almost as if he knew exactly where the reaper's face was; as if he could see it, though he couldn't. "Please, I just want to understand…"

Undertaker smiled, relaxing a bit. The chap's questions were coherent and precise, and his senses appeared to be working fine. That was a very good sign. An ordinary human with a fever this strong would have likely begun to suffer brain damage by now, but for whatever reason, it didn't seem to be affecting him that way...yet. He could only hope that didn't change. The possibilities of the things he could accomplish if Jase truly was a success were practically limitless.

"No Jase, you aren't alone," he soothed. "Well, not _exactly_, anyhow. Your predecessors weren't quite like you. Unlike yourself, they were dead when I altered them, and their souls had already departed. There are some left—on their way to Germany, I believe. The Aurora Society wishes to use them as living weapons—which in itself is rather funny to me, seeing as they're dead. You, on the other hand, are not. You're quite alive, and your soul is completely intact."

He took his hand away from the doll's face and he reached into his robe to withdraw the pink death bookmark. He leaned over Jase, so that his shadow was blocking the overhead light, and he lifted the washcloth to show him the item in his hand. "Do you see this? This is what I used to stop your death from happening. When mortals die, the events of their life are stored on what we reapers call cinematic records. Now, a reaper employed by the Dispatch Society is charged with viewing those records and collecting them for the Great Library, if they deem that the human is to die as scheduled. Once in a great while, a human on the death list is found to have extraordinary gifts yet to share with the world, and in such a case, the reaper replaces the records to allow the mortal to survive and carry on until the next death event."

Undertaker smiled at him, and he dipped the rolled up washcloth into the cool water again, before replacing it over those amazing blue eyes. "What I did with you was different, however. I erased your death event completely from your records, and I...well, let's say I took a bit of creative liberty and edited them, a bit. The angels truly wrecked your body with their purification attempts, and there was no way your body could have contained that fire as a mortal. You were doomed to die, Jase Dubois, had I not done what I did."

Undertaker sighed, looking the former priest's soaking body up and down. "Of course, I have no idea how _much_ heat this little body of yours can take, even in its altered state. You may have to soak for a while, to keep it under control. Constant diligence will be the key to your survival and recovery, I think."

Undertaker created more ice with death's chill, ensuring that the water stayed frigid around his doll's body. "Now, as for the question of your being a toy...do you _feel_ like one, love?"

"How is one supposed to feel? Toys usually are not alive. I feel hardly different than I had as…as a human. What makes me a possession to play with or not depends on how you treat me." he reached up and removed the cloth, holding his eyes closed a moment before letting them flutter open a crack to look at Undertaker, "…As my…'creator' of sorts, you've become my master, have you not? How do you plan to use me?"

Undertaker suffered a brief moment of perverted humor at that question, and he quickly stomped it out. There was a time and a place for his quirky mirth, and this was neither. Even a mad old codger like him knew that. "I must say I'm impressed. I wouldn't expect most humans to keep their wits about them under your circumstances, but you're a sharp gent, aren't you?"

He considered the question. He honestly hadn't really thought of what he'd _do_ with the young man if his little experiment proved successful. His only immediate goal was to see if he could make it happen. He looked around at his surroundings, his temporary base of operations. He would need to move again soon. He could only mask his presence from Shinigami authorities for so long, and he wasn't going to fool himself into thinking they wouldn't come after him again, after his encounter with two of their agents on the Campania.

"Yes, I'm your master, if it's to be put bluntly," Undertaker finally agreed with a nod. "Like all of my dollies, I designed you with a safety contingency. The records I've tagged onto yours prevent you from turning on me, so even if you were to go on a flesh eating rampage, you'd never so much as lay a tooth on me." He grinned. "Clever of me, isn't it?"

When he got no answer, he shrugged. He couldn't rightly blame the doll for being a bit resentful. "Still, that being said, you aren't a slave, Jase. I have no use for a companion that comes to me because of compulsion, and I expect you to use that lovely free will of yours to make most of your own decisions."

The reaper studied him with a curious little smile, tilting his head. "You know, I rather like you. You've got a quick mind and you don't seem squeamish. That could be useful. I've never taken on an apprentice, before. Would you like to learn about how life and death works, little friend? You've got a handle on theology already, so why not extend your knowledge to the fleshly matters? Haven't you ever wondered what makes your heart beat in your chest?"

He leaned in close to him, speaking softly into his ear. "Haven't you ever wondered what causes goosebumps, or considered where that exhilarating feeling comes from when you get startled or excited? I can teach you all of that. All I want from you for now is your cooperation. I want to observe you. I created you, true, but I don't fully understand how you work, yet. We'll need to perform some tests, and I'll need your verbal accounts of how things make you feel." He gently ran his nails through the brunet's hair, careful not to let it snag and tug on his scalp. Once the tissue re-attached to the skull and the stitching healed, he could give it a proper brushing. "Does that sound like a fair exchange to you?"

Jase remained silent a long while. His mind taking in what he'd been told. '_flesh eating_ _rampage'_. Was he the sort of cannibalistic being to do such a horrible thing? If so, why? Why would the reaper create such beings? He'd been attempting to take everything in stride, but that seemed too much.

"Don't let me…" he whispered, looking down at the icy waters he'd all but forgotten he'd been sitting in, "Don't let me loose control and kill anyone… '_Thou_ _shalt not kill_' Even if God's own can not follow such laws, I refuse to ignore them! Don't let me do what the others have done before me!" his gaze snapped up to look at Undertaker, blue eyes pleading, though they soon snapped shut to shield them from the sunlight. "Do as you need with me—but don't let me kill!"

Undertaker wasn't particularly surprised by his vehement plea. He wasn't expecting a man of God to be too keen on the idea of eating the flesh of his former brethren, after all. "The cannibal impulses are an unfortunate side effect of the process that creates the bizarre dolls," he explained. "I have no idea yet whether you'll be prone to that hunger as your cousins are, but I'm curious about something."

Undertaker loomed over him, again shading him from the overhead lamp with his shadow. He smiled down at him, his pale hair spilling over his shoulders and dangling around his face like a canopy of glossy, thick spider web. Some of it dropped into the water, where it drifted up against his doll's bare skin.

"Tell me, Jase," he murmured, still stroking the young man's hair, "why should you be any better than those angels, hmm? If divine beings hold no value over human life, why should you—a creature that may well come to need their flesh to sustain you—suffer compassion for them?"

"Why should I harm the innocent?" Jase countered, opening his eyes when he sensed that the light had been blocked once more, "Why should I fall to the level of those beings that betrayed my trust in God and forget all that had been taught to me? Why should I be the same as them when I'm not like them at all? Is there a rule that all non-humans must treat humans as if they are nothing of importance? Those are living souls…I'll not treat them as food."

The bit about non-humans treating them as nothing of importance had an unexpected effect on Undertaker. "Oh? Supernatural beings are alone in their mistreatment of mortals, eh? Have you listened to the town crier, lately? When you performed your sermons in church, did you or did you not ask the assembly to pray for those lost to violence—which is committed against them by their own kind, no less?

"I remember the humans I've reaped," insisted the reaper softly, lowering his gaze. "Long after their family lines have abandoned all care or knowledge of them, they stay with me. I had a collection of keepsakes from my favorites, in fact." His hand impulsively went to his waist, where his chain belt of lockets once draped around it. "Every single night in this city, some human kills another. I can feel it when it happens. I sense their death, agony, their fear, their desperation. Do you know what else I sense, Jase?"

Undertaker wasn't smiling as he lowered his face, until it was only a few inches away from the doll's. "I sense their killers' utter malcontent, or their glee, or their sexual gratification, in some cases. Don't speak to me as if the mortal masses are a pious lot. Men like you are the exception, my friend...not the rule. But don't take _my_ word for it. As soon as I'm satisfied that you're well and strong enough to take a little tour through London with me, I'll show you myself. I'll let you _witness_ with your new eyes how humans treat one another, while you sit on your bum and pray in the pews for them, cozy in your little chapel."

He backed off abruptly, reigning in old anger that he'd never fully banished. His cold expression melted away, and he smiled tenderly at his dollie. "But first, we must see to it that you get well, mustn't we? Forgive my outburst; it's an old grievance of mine." He reached into the water and he retrieved the washcloth again. He wrung it out a bit, and he replaced it over Jase's eyes. He stroked his hair soothingly and he sighed. "Regardless of how I perceive humans, if stopping you from acting on your nature is what you wish in return for your servitude, so be it. I'll even swear on the Bible, if you like."

"…You think I don't know the evil within the hearts of men?" Jase said in a low tone, "I know it well I've witnessed it, lived it, and have been victimized by it…I have not always been a man devoted to the church. I was once a boy without direction, you know. You saw my 'records', right? Did you not see that? But it is also not up to me to judge a soul as good or evil. I know not who is innocent and who is in need of salvation. But you…it was your job, was it not? To judge those souls? I asked you not to let me harm the innocent." He sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his long chocolate-brown hair, "I prayed for the souls of the corrupted…I had no idea such heart-felt words would fall upon deaf ears of a divine being who cares not…I had faith, Undertaker, just because it had been misplaced doesn't mean I was completely blind to the world."

"Then why would you speak as though creatures like myself, demons and angels are solely responsible for the suffering of mankind?" insisted Undertaker curiously. "Or God, for that matter? Free will was granted for a _reason_, love. We were all given the tools we needed to serve our purpose. Just because some of us..."

He trailed off and looked away, compressing his lips for a moment. "Just because some of us fall, fail or rebel doesn't necessarily mean God doesn't listen or watch. We're all at the mercy of fate, my dear, but we aren't puppets...well, _most_ of us aren't. One could argue that rule doesn't apply to my other dollies, but that would imply they're easily manipulated—which they are not. Even I can't direct most of their actions; and I created them."

He looked at Jase again, and he reached into the water to touch his submerged abdomen and test the temperature. "You're still quite warm, but you appear to be cooling down a bit. That's a fortunate bit of luck for us. I was beginning to think I'd have to keep you in a cold water tank, like some big, exotic fish." He chuckled at the image. "Well Jase, there is one interesting little fact about reality that I'll impart to you: things don't get done by sitting around asking someone else to do it for you. Give me your vow, and I shall give you mine in return. Your submission in exchange for my protection. Will you accept me as your master and do as I ask?"

Jase sat in silence a moment longer, touching the wet cloth covering his eyes. What choice did he have, really? If he refused and left—he could only regret it should he loose control and start killing people. But if he agreed…he'd have help to stay in control of himself. Finally, he gave a small nod, "I will."

Undertaker beamed happily. "Wonderful!" He reached for Jase's hand and he shook it heartily, scattering cold water droplets everywhere in the process. He unceremoniously dropped it back into the bath and he stood up, already planning out the things he'd like to do first. He really didn't need to make an agreement with the little doll; Jase was his, and nothing the former priest could do would change that. Still, he chose to give him the opportunity to accept his fate willingly, rather than force it on him needlessly. He rather liked having a dollie that would answer him when he talked to it, one that was living and warm and capable of laughter and...

Undertaker paused, frowning. _Was_ his new companion capable of laughter? He really didn't know the answer to that, and Jase presently had nothing to laugh about. He looked down at the reclining, unhappy figure in the tub, and he tapped a long fingernail against his teeth thoughtfully.

"I've got it," he muttered. Who said the laughter had to be inspired by amusement? Reflex was just as good, if he was even capable of it. Of course, he might have to experiment a bit to find just the right spot to provoke the reaction he was after. He dropped back into a squat beside the tub, reached into the water and went for the most common target, giving the doll's ribs a tickle without warning.

Jase tensed and jumped, the cloth falling from his eyes and into the icy waters as his body jerked and started to wiggle, laughter being forced into his voice, "St-sto—what a-are you—why—ah-hahaha!" water splashed out onto the floor and soaked Undertaker's robes as he attempted to escape the rather unexpected attack to his ribs, sides and under his arms.

Undertaker grinned in delight at the sound of the laughter. He stopped tormenting him, and he gave a satisfied nod. "Just checking, love. Your laughter, by the way, is prettier than the sound of church bells on a Sunday." He replaced the washcloth over the giggling young man's eyes, taking a moment to admire his smile. "Now I'll go and fetch you something to eat. You must be feeling a bit peckish, by now. We'll see if normal food can satisfy your hunger."

He stood up, absently shook some water off of his boot, and walked the few steps to the open door. He paused as he started to go through it, and he looked back over his shoulder at the doll, "And don't worry, Jase. I won't let you harm any _innocents_."

The doll slowly calmed again, but frowned as he thought about food. It was true. He _should_ be hungry. It had been a few days, after all. But he didn't feel the need for nourishment in the slightest, just as he still could feel no chill of the water he lay in.

But even if he wasn't feeling hungry…he should try to eat something, so he didn't speak up, settling back down in the water and feeling around for the cloth to place back over his eyes to protect himself from the harsh light.

Undertaker returned with a jar of his favorite bone-shaped shortbread cookies. Jase stirred a bit in the tub when he knelt beside it again, indicating that he sensed his presence. Undertaker took one of his hands and placed a biscuit in it.

"There you are. Try that, and if you can keep it down, I'll feed you something heavier. I've got some stew left over from lunch, still warm in the pot."

He watched with interest as Jase bit into the cookie and munched it. He allowed him to eat the whole thing before inquiring further. "How is that settling for you?"

"My stomach doesn't seem to be rejecting it…" Jase muttered, "But I don't know how much I should try eating…" he paused, "I feel thirsty, but not hungry at all…is that normal?"

Undertaker frowned in thought. "No, it isn't. The others woke up ravenous, and the only thing they thirsted for was human blood."

He tested his body temperature again, and he decided it was safe to remove him from the bathtub. "Your fever seems to have dropped a bit—if it could really be called a fever at all. Let's get you all dried off and in something comfy, and you can have some more water."

Undertaker rolled a sleeve back so that he could reach down between Jase's feet to pull the plug. He honestly didn't know why he bothered; his robes were soaked from the hem to the knees already, and he would need to change into a dry outfit himself. As the water began to drain, he removed the washcloth from Jase's eyes and held his arms out for him.

"Come along, then."

Cracking open his eyes, Jase blushed slightly, knowing he had no choice in the matter. His legs had already proven themselves too weak to support him currently. So, he moved himself over and slipped his arms around the reaper's shoulders, holding on tight as he was lifted from the draining waters of the tub.

Undertaker eased his charge down onto the threadbare bath rug, and he retrieved the towel he'd rolled up to use as a pillow for Jase. He shook it out and he wrapped it around the doll's body to dry his torso as best he could while supporting him with one arm. He grinned a little when he noticed the deeper flush in his cheeks, guessing the cause for it. He considered sparing his modesty by looking away and allowing him to try and pull his wet underclothes off by himself, but he couldn't imagine him succeeding, in this weak and uncoordinated condition. He'd barely had the strength to grip his hand when Undertaker shook it, mere moments ago.

"Just try to relax while I get these wet drawers off of you," he said, squirming aside to lay the young man down gently. "Close your eyes, so the light doesn't hurt them."

When Jase obeyed, he slipped his long fingernails into the waistline of his soaked underpants, hooking it with his fingers. He worked quickly, keeping his touch clinical even though his gaze was anything but. He took in the sight of his naked groin, the triangle of crisp brown curls framing it, and the shape of his pelvic bone. Undertaker usually adored stitches on his dollies, but he was rather thankful that Jase hadn't been damaged enough to require more than the necessary scalp sutures, after having his procedure. He had creamy, soft skin and a youthful, gently masculine build.

He only allowed his eyes to linger for long enough to assess his level of attraction to him, and then he resumed drying him off. Once he was finished, he helped him lift his hips so that he could get the towel under them, and he wrapped it around his waist to cover him up. He instructed him to put his arms around his neck, and then he picked him up again to carry him out of the bathroom.

Undertaker had no bed to speak of, nor did the shack he was currently staying in have any common furniture. All he had were the coffins he'd brought from his now abandoned shop, along with his supplies. Aside from the bathroom, kitchen and the basement, there were no separate rooms in the creaky old shack. He carried Jase into the living room and over to one of the open coffins and he eased him down into it. He propped him up against the back of it so that he could sit, and he considered his small build.

"I don't have much in the way of fashion," he informed him, "and I had to toss your priestly robes. You'll absolutely _swim_ in robes of mine, but I can't very well leave you with naught but a damp towel to sleep in, can I? I suppose one of my shirts or robes will do, for now."

He left him then, going into the kitchen to pour a cup of water for him. He brought it back to him and made sure he could hold it steady to drink out of, before walking over to the trunk in the corner of the room to find him something to wear. Being tall with long legs himself, Undertaker was positive that little Jase would never fit into a pair of his pants. He could probably wear one of his shirts and roll the sleeves back, but it might not cover his gent bits enough to preserve modesty. With a shrug, he decided on one of his lighter robes.

"Here we are," he said as he shook the garment out and turned to offer it to him. Jase had finished his cup of water already, and Undertaker raised his brows. "Still thirsty, are we?"

The doll nodded, though his eyes remained closed. He held out the glass, "If it isn't too much trouble…could I have more, please?" he requested, shifting his legs off to his side in the coffin.

Another smile curved Undertaker's lips. He generally found humans to be chatterboxes that tended to speak without saying anything of real value. That was why his dollies were such a comfort to him. They represented the beauty of death, in motion. Unfortunately, they had no personalities at all. This one, this former priest, demonstrated the good qualities in both. He didn't ask inane questions, he had transcended life and death, and he was very polite. "Of course." Rather than take the cup to the kitchen to refill it, he chose to fetch another pitcher from the cupboards and fill it up completely. Jase had a powerful thirst, and that was understandable to Undertaker. He was likely dehydrated, and drinking plenty of fluids would help flush out any infection he might still be harboring. He brought the pitcher back into the living room and he filled Jase's cup with it, before setting it on the floor beside his coffin.

"There, you should be set for a bit, now. I'll brew us up some afternoon tea, as well." He retrieved the robes he'd dropped on his own nearby coffin, and he waited for Jase to finish drinking his refill, before approaching him with it. "All right, put that aside for a minute, so we can get you properly dressed. It's going to be far too long on you, but at least it's something to wear until I can get you some proper fitting clothes. At least I was able to salvage your shoes from that mess, so you won't have to go barefoot. Slip out of that towel for me and hold your arms over your head, love. I'll just drop it over you, and save us both the trouble of fooling with the buttons. It should slip right on like a nightgown."

Jase, a little reluctantly, set aside his glass, feeling over the surface with his fingers to make sure the glass would be safe in the spot, as he didn't wish to open his eyes and expose them to the painful light. He then held his hands up above his head and soon felt the long robes being pulled down onto his body, the fabric fluttering down and around him. He felt like he was swimming in it, the way it hung loosely to his frame and pooled around him where he sat in the coffin. He shifted and removed the towel, folding it unevenly and setting it aside before attempting to readjust the robes. He actually felt like a doll in them. He could remember his cousin who had always had many dolls, but her favorite had been smaller in size. Though that didn't stop her from wanting to play dress-up with the dresses from other, larger dolls.

Undertaker retrieved the towel from him and he took a moment to amuse himself with the sight of the small man buried in his robes. Yes, they would definitely need to procure a wardrobe for Jase. As darling as he looked struggling to keep Undertaker's robes from slipping down over his shoulders, he couldn't very well get any exercise in the thing. It would trip him up. He'd need something tailored, no doubt, since he was even smaller than the average female. An idea came to Undertaker, and he snapped his fingers.

"Of course! You had more than one outfit, after all." He mentally reviewed the cinematic records he'd witnessed when he did his work on him. Though his life as a priest had been humble as expected, Jase _did_ have a trunk with personal belongings such as clothing and books in his sleeping chambers at the abbey. "Jase, until we can get a tailor to fit you for something new, it may be in your best interests for me to retrieve your old belongings."

He considered the doll's bitter words from before, and he wondered how deep his feelings of betrayal went. "Are there any personal effects you would like me to collect from your trunk? For that matter, would you like me to retrieve any of your clergy accoutrements, for you?"

Jase shook his head, "Just something to cover myself with, and…" he trailed off, remembering the first time he'd been happy. A young woman. She had been a little older than he, and taller, as most people were, but, she'd been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen…even more-so than the angels who'd attacked him. She'd been gentle and kind, and had shown him the way to salvation.

Joyelle.

She had been so kind to him…and he had loved her, though fate had not been kind. While she had won his heart, her own had been won by another man, who took her as his wife. Jase had been happy for her, but kept a treasure of her memory hidden within the pages of his bible. A thin wooden locket he had once made as a gift for her, though he'd never gotten the chance to give it, and inside, folded neatly, was a letter she had written him when he joined the priesthood. It was a small letter, not even a page, but it held her love for him. A sibling-like love, but love none-the-less. "..My locket…"

Undertaker frowned, but then he recalled something he'd seen in the cinematic records, and he understood. "Ah, the woman. Very well my dear, I'll be sure and fetch your locket for you. I assume you'll be all right on your own for an hour while I go to retrieve these things. The water pitcher should last, but if you should happen to run out before I return and desperately need more, use the tap in the kitchen. The one in the bathroom sink tends to spit and the pipes have a leak. If you don't think you can make it on your own, I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for me."

With that said, He turned and walked toward the front door. As an afterthought, he turned out the lights and drew the curtains on the windows shut. "There, that should be dim enough for you," he announced. "When I get back, we'll fashion a comfy blindfold for you and have some tea, shall we?"

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, and he cast a smile over his shoulder at the young man, who had cautiously opened his unusual-looking, blue eyes. "You know, Jase, you and I are alike in our appreciation for lockets as personal keepsakes. You have my respect, in that matter. Toodles!"

He slipped out the door quickly, hardly allowing a ray of the afternoon light the chance to beam through the opening before he shut it and locked it again. He dearly hoped his dollie would have the common sense to stay put, and not go wandering in some vane attempt to find mortal help for his condition. No matter, thought. Undertaker was connected to him, and he could track him wherever he went. In a sense, his bond with the former priest was much like Earl Phantomhive's bond with his butler; only he couldn't compel his dollie to obey him with a simple word or phrase.

In hindsight, the reaper wondered if he should have employed more compulsions when he was in the process of altering Jase Dubois' nature and records. He'd been so concerned with preserving his life that he hadn't thought to introduce basic command words into the records. Perhaps he should consider doing that, just in case.


	3. Lonely

**Just a Doll **

**Chapter 3**

Jase was thankful that the reaper had thought enough to block out the light for him, letting him sit in the dark where his eyes wouldn't burn and hurt. As he waited, he finished off the pitcher of water, but he was fine with waiting and not going to attempt to refill it between the promise of tea and knowing last time he'd tried to stand he'd crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. He paused at that thought. Strange how his mind kept referring to a children's toy when he thought of himself, now that he knew he was no longer human, and the madman had turned him into something else that he referred to as a 'Bizarre Doll'.

The small man didn't know what to think, really, about his death, his 'rebirth', his 'savior', and his afterlife… On one hand, he'd been saved, allowed to live on, start over… but if you look at it differently, he'd been robbed of his death…his everlasting rest, his soul's fate and judgment…if he understood the man right, he'd possibly live forever, his body frozen in time…He didn't know what fate he would have rather had…this or death.

Growing bored as he waited, Jase lay down in the coffin, silently waiting until he drifted off to sleep.

-x-

It was easy to slip right past the clergy on the chapel grounds. Undertaker simply cloaked himself from mortal perceptions, and the only trace of his passing was a chill in the air that made some of them shiver and look around curiously. One of them—a rather portly, freckled man with a head of balding, ginger hair—seemed to have a more attuned sixth sense than his brethren. For a brief moment, he seemed to look right at Undertaker and even though the most he could have detected visually was a faint shadow, he looked suddenly startled and suspicious.

Undertaker kept a wide berth of him, respecting his perceptive powers. He was Irish, and if the reaper wasn't mistaken, he had some Druid lineage in his ancestry. Not that any of these mortals posed a threat to him, but he preferred to get in and out without a fuss, so that he could get back to his dollie.

Going by what he remembered of Jase's cinematic records, he found the corridor leading to the individual cells for clergy that lived on the grounds, and he realized that Jase's small sleeping chambers were really the only one's being used. He presumed the other clergy had homes of their own. He waited for a passing monk to go by, and then he pushed the door shut carefully, grimacing when it creaked. He located Jase's chest at the foot of the little iron bed, and he went to it to open it up.

It was locked.

"Bugger," muttered the reaper under this breath. He poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth and he grasped the fliplock. Employing his natural Shinigami strength, he pulled until it snapped off, leaving it free to open and plunder.

Undertaker absently dropped the broken piece to the wooden floor, and he lifted the lid to have a look inside. Jase was a rather orderly fellow. His clothes were folded neatly and categorized, and the handful of books was neatly stacked in the right corner. His personal copy of the Holy Bible was on the top, and Undertaker lifted it out and flipped through the pages to find the locket his dollie had made. He took a moment to admire the craftsmanship, blowing a soft whistle.

"Very nice, pet. The little glimpse I got of it in your records didn't quite do it justice, did it?"

He started to pocket the item and leave the bible, but he changed his mind and took the tome, as well. Jase might be too embittered right now to have any desire for it, but Undertaker knew how clergy tended to be, and there was a chance he might find some comfort in it, later. He paused and frowned, wondering why he bothered. Why should _he_ care if his servant found comfort in anything or not? The idea to come and retrieve his clothing had been a practical one, but his efforts to be kind to the doll startled him a bit.

Perhaps it was simply because he hadn't had company in a while—not counting the mute dead and Jase's mindless cousins. The other dolls were made out of curiosity, to see how far humans would go to destroy one another. It amused and sickened him all at once, the way they clamored for power in their ranks and stepped on one another without a thought to get it. Even their young weren't safe from their power-lust. Babies often fell victim to the callous cruelty of invading armies, same as adults.

And speaking of the nippers, sometimes their own _parents_ put them on the death list. Undertaker thought that was an awful shame, because while adult humans tended to irritate and bore him more often than not, their younger counterparts were quite entertaining and delightful. The ones that actually got the chance to enjoy their childhood were fun to observe, with their carefree laughter, boundless imaginations and vivid curiosity.

In many ways, Undertaker was like a big child, himself.

He got so sidetracked thinking about the good and the bad in humanity, he didn't notice the Irishman approaching in the hallway, and he'd dropped his concealment from mortal senses. Undertaker got to his feet and turned as the door opened to admit the priest. The Irishman looked immediately alarmed upon seeing the tall, black-garbed reaper.

"What'r ya doin' in Father Dubois' chambers, sir?"

Undertaker sighed. Perfect; "I'm here to collect some things on his behalf," he explained.

The priest looked down at the broken pieces of lock on the floor, and he started to leave. Undertaker reacted swiftly, interposing him before he could so much as take one step out the door. He appeared between the priest and the door in an instant, and he manifested a chill fog around himself, gazing into the priest's wide, startled hazel eyes through the partial concealment of his bangs. Enough of his gaze was revealed to him for the Irishman to catch a glimpse of his otherworldly eyes, and to add an even greater impression, Undertaker manifested his death scythe. The priest backpedaled and nearly fell into Jase's trunk, his face going immediately pale.

"Naoimh chaomhnú linn!" He yelped.

"Funny thing about your saints," murmured Undertaker in a voice as chill as the grave, "many of them were once your people's gods, before your island was assimilated into Catholicism. Your ancestors prayed to them in much the same way you do now, but they had a different vision of the Divine. Isn't it interesting how things come full-circle, Sean?"

"W-what d-do ya want?" gasped the priest, clutching his chest over his heart. "Is it...my time?"

"Not just yet," assured Undertaker, "though if you don't cut back on the lard in your diet, you could make it onto the list sooner than you think. Today, I'm here for Jase's belongings."

"F-Father Dubois? You mean he's..." The clergyman couldn't seem to find the breath to finish.

"Dead," supplied Undertaker helpfully, nodding his silver head. He allowed the fog to die down around him. "But to finish his crossing to the afterlife, he requires a few things of sentimental value. Restless spirits being somewhat of a deterrent to my job, I've come to collect those things and be on my merry way. You wouldn't stand in the way of an angel of death, would you?"

The priest crossed himself hastily and moved aside to give Undertaker access to the chest again. "T-take whatever ya want, sir! How did the young priest p-pass?"

Undertaker glanced at him as he gathered Jase's belongings into his arms. "There was an internal rupture, while he was closing down for the night three days ago. Neither you nor your fellow clergyman could have saved him, so put it out of your mind." Undertaker smiled. "He's in a far better place, now."

"Aye," gasped the Irishman in agreement, clasping his hands in prayer. "May the Lord keep his soul. He was a good lad."

"Still is," said Undertaker without thinking. He banished his scythe, finished collecting what he needed, and he smirked at the priest. "We'll be seeing you in around seven years, Father—give or take. I suggest you make those changes to your diet, if you want to procrastinate our next meeting."

The priest swallowed and nodded convulsively. When Undertaker vanished in a fog of darkness, Father O'Reilly's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell flat on his back, unconscious.

-x-

Undertaker returned to his dilapidated residency in the slums of London, some twenty minutes later. He'd managed to get everything done in under an hour.

"Honey, I'm home," he greeted cheerfully as he stepped into the house, arms laden with Jase's clothing. He went quiet when he saw that his dollie was sleeping peacefully in his coffin, and he pressed his lips together to prevent more sound from coming out of them and disturbing him. He started to tip-toe over to the coffin closest to the front door to put the booty he'd collected down, but when the floor creaked under the first step, he decided to just glide, instead. He closed the door—which he'd been keeping oiled since taking up residence here to avoid that awful squeaking sound he hated so much.

"All tuckered out, are we?" whispered the reaper with a grin. Now that he thought of it, this would be the perfect opportunity to make some minor alterations...ones that would allow him just a little more control over his dollie if things ever went sour, without compromising Jase's free will.

Undertaker silently glided to the stairs leading to the basement, and he retrieved a bottle of ether and a cloth from the shelves down there. He applied some to the cloth, deliberately halting his breath so that he wouldn't inadvertently inhale any of it, and he returned to the main floor.

He was so quiet and subtle about it that Jase didn't even stir when he placed the cloth over his mouth and nose to keep him out. Satisfied that the doll wouldn't wake before he was finished, Undertaker called his death scythe again, and he made a small cut in Jase's chest with it—just enough to allow his records to be handled. He retrieved his bookmark and he got to work on making a couple of simple, quick revisions to the records.

When he was finished, Undertaker put away the bookmark, took the ether-dampened cloth from his doll's face and went back into the basement to toss it into a bucket of water to be washed and sterilized again later. He started up the stove in the kitchen, put the kettle on and prepared the tea he'd promised to Jase, when he finished with that.

Jase awoke to the sound of a kettle screaming on the heat, and he slowly sat up, looking around the still darkened room. He rubbed his chest, feeling a small tingling in one spot, though he thought nothing of it. "Undertaker..?" he rubbed the sleep from his swirled eyes and finally spotted the man, "How long have you been back..? You could have awoken me…"

Undertaker looked up from the tarnished old tray he was carrying back into the room with him, and he grinned. "Hullo, love. Have a good nap?" He glided over to him, and he set the tray on the floor by the coffin. "You were resting so peacefully, it would have been a shame to wake you. I haven't been back for long."

He reached into his robes and he procured the holy tome he'd taken, with the hand-crafted locket still pressed between the pages. He held it out to the young man in offering. "Though you might like the case it came in, too."

Jase took the bible in shaky hands, his gaze lowering to it, "…It's just a book…isn't it? It's not truly scripture or the word of God…just the words of men, putting it down on paper in God's name under the assumption that he could actually care…" he gripped the leather binding of the book tight as he thought out loud, not really caring if his companion answered back. "How much are lies, and how much is truth..?"

Undertaker smiled, and he squatted down beside the coffin. His gaze went to the book—which was blurry in his nearsighted vision. Rather than answer him aloud, he turned and began to prepare a cup of tea for him. Jase needed to hash out his inner faith crisis a bit, before Undertaker offered his input. Having been in a situation not terribly unlike this himself once, he felt some empathy for the doll.

Having been privy to his records and therefore knowledgeable about his tea preferences, Undertaker prepared a beaker for him according to his taste, and he dragged another coffin over to serve as a makeshift coffee table. He settled the lid on it, put Jase's beaker down and then made a serving for himself. He sipped it quietly and listened to his companion, interested to hear what motivated his tormented heart.

Jase gave a soft 'thank you' to the reaper and picked up the beaker, pausing as he looked it over, "…this is…clean, right? It didn't have anything strange or questionable floating in it before you made tea..?" he couldn't help but remember the jars in the basement he had seen when he had first awoken to his new inhuman life as a Bizarre Doll.

Undertaker found his concern ridiculously amusing, but understandable. "Now, why would I go through all the trouble of washing my hands and putting on sterile gloves before treating your stitches, if I were going to turn around and feed you tea in a tainted container? Silly dollie."

He sipped his own tea and grinned. "I should probably invest in some proper teacups, eventually."

Jase took the locket out of the bible and set the book down, looking at the small wooden gem he'd crafted. With a sigh, he slipped it over his head and tugged his hair out from the string before taking a sip of the drink. He frowned. The tea seemed like water, just as flavorless, which was odd only because he had seen Undertaker add honey and milk…the way he liked it. It was very disappointing to him that he couldn't taste it, even a little, and thinking back, that treat that Undertaker had given him to eat hadn't tasted like anything at all, either. "…Pourquoi ne puis-je goûte..?"

It took Undertaker a moment to comprehend what his dollie was asking, with his French being on the slow side. "Taste?" he asked. "Can't say anyone's ever said my tea lacks flavor. If anything, I get accused of making it too strong."

He took the doll's drink from him without ceremony and he tried a sip himself. "Hmm, seems fine to me, even if it's not my preferential cup 'o tea." He handed the drink back to Jase and he frowned at him. "That's interesting. _Very_ interesting. Pardon me a moment, love; I've got to fetch a couple of things from the basement."

He set his own tea aside and he got up to retrieve said items. He came back up a couple of moments later, with a tongue depressor in one hand and a magnifying lens in the other. "Close your eyes, Jase. I've got to have a look at your tongue and I need proper light to do it," he warned.

Jase hurriedly shut his eyes, not wanting to risk another headache. With his eyes closed tight, he opened his mouth so that the reaper could look at his tongue. The former human began to wonder if the reaper had any form of medical training. Sure, he may know about the dead…but maybe he also knew about the living…

Seeing that the young man's eyes were shut, Undertaker went to the light switch and clicked it on. He put both of his medical items in one hand, and he cupped his doll's chin to tilt his head back before applying the depressor to his tongue and having a look.

"Apex looks normal," he muttered as he examined the surface of the tongue, hardly aware he was speaking out loud. "The fungiform papillae appear undamaged, as does the midline groove and the filliform papillae. The foliate papillae look a bit scalded...but dollie doesn't seem to register temperature differences the way normal organic creatures would, so that part is likely my fault. I should test the temperature of hot drinks before offering them, from now on."

He practically sounded as though he were talking to someone that wasn't there, rattling off his observances. "The terminal sulcus is also irritated, but that shouldn't account for a lack of taste sensation."

Undertaker released Jase's jaw and he stepped back, watching him with troubled, green-gold eyes. "There is no physical accounting for the loss of his sense of taste, so that leaves..."

He stopped himself, jarred out of his ramblings by the reminder that his subject was alive and quite capable of hearing him...and panicking.

"…Leaves what?" The doll shifted and tilted his head in the direction he could hear the ruffling of Undertaker's robes, "Why can't I taste anything?" he reached out blindly, is fingers locating and curling around the long sleeves that the reaper wore, "Please, tell me…"

Undertaker paused in the action of pacing away, and he looked down at the distressed young man. Silently cursing himself for his carelessness, he decided it was best to be candid with him.

"A diminished sense of taste and touch are both symptoms of brain damage." He squatted down before Jase to prevent him from trying to climb out on his own, and he sighed. "Your lack of response to temperature—combined with the numbed flavor receptors—has me a bit concerned, I admit. If you were stronger, I could perform some simple muscle coordination exercises with you to see if you have other symptoms, but we may have to settle for localized skin sensory tests, for now."

Undertaker glanced down at the doll's legs, bent and tucked up in a cozy position beneath the robes that practically swallowed him. "We can start with the outer extremities. We'll test your fingers, hands and arms, then we'll try out the toes, feet and legs. I already know you aren't lacking sensation in your torso."

He grinned at the memory of how Jase had giggled impulsively when he'd tickled him, and the old Undertaker—the one who used to be so loyal and dedicated to reaping—came forth in his mind to sternly remind him that this was no laughing matter. He sobered and he looked at the doll, admiring the sweep of his lashes framing his closed eyelids.

"Let's finish the tea and fashion that blindfold for you, first," he said. "Despite your odd symptoms, your coordination seems to be improving with each moment, and I think we can spare a few to enjoy the refreshment."

Jase's eyes widened, though he was quick to shut them and shield his eyes with his arm, dropping Undertaker's sleeve. "Brain…damage..?" he slumped, pulling up his legs and hugging them, "It couldn't be anything else?" He hated not being able to taste. He was a Frenchman, after all, he enjoyed savoring good food, even if, as a priest, he was rarely afforded the chance to eat such.

"If I find no other symptoms related to brain damage, it may well be something else," answered the reaper. "First we need to obtain a more solid diagnosis, love." There was a possibility that his inability to feel temperature shifts and taste food could just be a temporary effect of waking up, but Undertaker didn't want to make that call and give the young man false hope. He dimmed the lights again and gave Jase his tea back.

While the unhappy doll sipped his tea, Undertaker chatted with him. He found himself trying to comfort him without even realizing it. He nearly told him that he'd found his wood carving set amongst his belongings and promised to bring some lumber for him to use when his coordination improved enough for it, but he realized he didn't know for sure if Jase would ever regain enough coordination to practice his art, again.

He decided to keep the crafting set hidden and to himself, until he knew his dollie could use it again. Instead, he began to tell him jokes and limericks, hoping to bring at least a hint of a smile to his tragic, comely features. Again, he wasn't sure _why_ he was so concerned with the doll's emotional state, but it troubled him to see him so glum.

"...And the carpenter yelled: 'what's _wrong_ with you lot, did you think I was dead?'" He finished his third tale of humor with a cackle. "Two people at the wake dropped dead of a heart attack then and there, but the carpenter was just unconscious from hitting his head as he fell off the ladder."

When Jase didn't crack a smile, Undertaker tried something that didn't involve someone's unfortunate demise. "Knock, knock."

The doll stared at him, his brows furrowed.

"Come on, now." Undertaker rapped his knuckles against his coffin lid. "Knock, knock."

"I'm afraid I don't understand that one…" the doll mumbled, sipping the last of his tea, which had long gone cold, which he of course couldn't notice. He watched as Undertaker seemed to sigh and explained to him quickly that it was a joke he had to partake in, pretending 'knock, knock' was someone actually knocking at the door, and to go on from there. Setting down his empty tea beaker, he complied, "Yes? Who is it?" He had to admit, the man was trying hard to raise his spirits, the least he could do was try to understand the man's dark sense of humor.

"Nobel," answered the reaper with a boyish, wide grin.

"Nobel…do I know a 'Nobel'?"

"Oh dear," muttered Undertaker beneath his breath.

"This is the part where you ask; 'Nobel who'," he informed patiently.

Jase bit his lip, "Sorry… Nobel, who?" he repeated.

"You've got no bell," answered Undertaker, "that's why I knocked!" He laughed heartily and slapped his knee, thoroughly enjoying the punch line even though he'd had to fight an uphill battle to get to it. He saw Jase's lips quirk the slightest bit, and he winked at him. "Go on, you can't tell me that one wasn't at least a _little_ amusing!"

Jase's gaze softened, his small smile lingering on his lips as he gave a small chuckle. The man really was trying so hard to help him…it was rude to simply sit there and say that he didn't appreciate any of it. He leaned over, reaching out and took the reaper's large hand in his, "Thank you."

Undertaker had a feeling that Jase's soft, brief laughter was more out of courtesy than true amusement, but he was used to people not getting his jokes. The endearing way he'd reached out to take his hand made up for the slight disappointment he felt, and he looked down at the smaller hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. That one small gesture of gratitude and trust showed that he'd at least succeeded in comforting the doll, and that was better than nothing.

When they finished their drinks, Undertaker helped Jase lie down into a more comfortable position, and he bade him wait there while he went downstairs to fetch some things from the basement. When he came back up with his instrument roll and spread it out on the lid of the coffin he'd been sitting on, Jase looked concerned.

"Not to worry," soothed Undertaker. "I've got no plans to cut you, pet. I'm just going to poke around a little. It might not be comfortable, but I'll try to get through it quick. All I need you to do is try to relax and tell me how things feel. Understand?"

Jase nodded and tried to relax again against the soft silken pillow within the casket he lay within. "Why do you have so many coffins?" he asked, knowing that there were at least three in the small building they occupied.

"Because up until recently, I worked as a mortician," explained Undertaker. He selected a curved suturing needle, and he took Jase's left hand to begin. "Even after retiring from work as a Grim Reaper, I felt most comfortable around the dead, so I took up a job few mortals are willing to take. I learned all about human biology and mortuary science, and I put that knowledge toward maintaining the dead. Took me a pretty chunk of years to perfect my art, but someone like me has all the time in the world to practice, right? I used to do autopsies for the Yard when they had a body suspected of being the result of foul play, and I used to pretty up the dead for their special day."

He lightly pricked the pads of Jase's fingers, one by one. He applied just enough pressure to make it sting, without piercing the skin. The fingers twitched reflexively with each prick. "Not many people really give a care to the dead, you know. Once you're gone, you're so much cold meat to most humans—save for the ones that loved you. I didn't pretty them up for _them_, though. I did it for the deceased. Mortals are never so revered and loved by their kin as they are on the day of their funeral. Even if they aren't around to appreciate it, I think they should look their best for it."

Undertaker ran his fingernails lightly over the inside of Jase's arm, from the bicep to the wrist. Jase shivered a little in response to the caress, and goosebumps sprang up. "How does that feel?" inquired the reaper, doing it once more. He glanced at Jase's eyes as he caressed the soft skin. "Any numbness?"

"Mm…" The doll shook his head slowly, "It tickles slightly…" he paused, "Please don't tickle me again like you had in the tub…that was too much." He smiled and looked up at the reaper, "Aren't you lonely, though? Only being around the dead?"

Undertaker was briefly enchanted by the little smile, and it took him a moment to register what the doll was saying. He smiled brightly at him, displaying rows of teeth in a Cheshire Cat grin. "Hmm, now I know how to keep you in line if you give me any sass. I can tickle you into submission."

He made as if to do just that, pretending to lunge at the doll with his fingers hooked into claws, and when Jase yelped and cringed in the coffin, the reaper burst into laughter.

"Ah, my, that was entertaining," he said. He moved to the other side of the coffin and he took Jase's right hand to repeat the sensory tests. "To answer your question, I suppose it does get lonely now and then. I chat to them, but they never chat back. It's ironic, if I think about it, because I don't much care for chatty humans that don't really say much of anything. I've gotten into the habit of talking to myself a lot, and sometimes I forget when I'm around someone that can talk back."

Undertaker winked at him. "But I'm sure you haven't noticed that little quirk."

"Only every other word out of your mouth…I never know if you want me to answer back or not…" Jase admitted, feeling his fingers being pricked one-by-one. Each time his fingers jerking away.

"Ah, I do apologize for that, love. I'll try to curb that little habit, but it may take some time for me to get used to having sentient company again."

Undertaker released his right wrist and he moved on to his feet. He pulled Jase's borrowed robes up to expose his legs to the thigh, stopping before he would have exposed his groin. "I'll need to test your sensory responses in your legs, too," he explained when the doll looked a little uncomfortable.

He deliberately kept his touch clinical now, noticing the little blush on Jase's cheeks. Victorian modesty aside, the young man was an innocent in the ways of the flesh, and since his goal was to comfort him while he worked, Undertaker kept that in mind. Jase really _did_ have a nice pink blush, though.

He pricked his toes for a reaction, unable to clearly see his face from this distance as he did so. "I loved my job as a mortician, truthfully," he said conversationally to him. "I learned so much from it. Guess I've buggered _that_ all up now."

"Why—is that?" he gasped, his toes curling in protest of being pricked, "Why can't you still be one?" Propping himself up on his elbows, he gazed over at the silver haired man who had a content look upon his face with each prick to a toe he gave, "If that is your God-given—if that is your passion, why leave it? Why stop being a mortician at all?" he corrected himself. He was so used to giving God credit for everything…but it just didn't seem the case in reality. It didn't feel right.

A rare frown crept onto Undertaker's lips. "Because things change. Because if word gets out that I'm back in business, they'll come for me again." He put the needle aside, and he absently traced the scar winding diagonally down his face. There was another scar around his pinky finger, and then there was the more noticeable one ringing his pale throat. "And I'll be forced to cut down every single one of them—again—until they finally take _me_ down. I once told a young Earl that killers don't stop until someone makes them."

He looked at Jase, squinting through his bangs to see him better. "I don't do it on a whim, you understand. I don't seek victims out, but I don't hesitate to strike down anyone that gets in my way, either. Of all the creatures in this world, I think you may be the only one utterly safe from my death scythe. You're my masterpiece, after all."

"…Killer…" Jase repeated, shivering at the thought, "But…isn't killing and being a Grim Reaper two different things? And why are 'they' after you? Why would they need to take you down? There is nothing wrong with such an occupation…"

Undertaker smirked, and he tested the sensory perception in the young man's legs, one at a time. "Ah, but I _have_ killed, Jase, and not just to collect souls. I killed my own kind when they came to take my scythe from me. I wouldn't be parted with it. 'Deserter', they called me, because I came to question what sort of an existence I had. I got tired of being a tool for the Divine...a dog on a leash...so I broke free of that leash."

Satisfied that the doll had complete feeling in all extremities now, Undertaker eased the robes back down over his legs and he went to pour him another cup of tea. Seeing as Jase currently had no sense of taste, he didn't bother adding to it. He came back, handed the beaker to the young man and he waited until he had a good hold on it, before letting go.

"I turned in my glasses the day I decided there was more to life than reaping. I wanted to understand how life worked, not just collect the souls when it expired. Learning such a thing required time I couldn't spare as a soul harvester, so I opted to give up the status and privileges that came with it. I made a fake replica of my scythe and turned it in with my glasses."

Undertaker grinned at the vague, old memory. "They didn't like that one bit, but the truth is once a reaper has been in 'business' for long enough, he becomes so attuned to his scythe that there's really no way to force him to give it up. It takes several hundred years for the bond to reach that level of strength, though, and a lot of reapers don't live for that long. They could have taken it off of me, and I simply would have called it back. Once a reaper has attuned this strongly to his scythe, he must _consciously_ choose to part with it, in order to lose attunement with it. I wasn't willing to give it up."

Undertaker stood up and manifested the item he spoke of: a fantastically deadly thing, with the huge, curved blade sprouting from the side of a silver skull bearing a crown of thorns. Undertaker propped the foot of the scythe against the floor like a staff, and he leaned against it comfortably. He smiled and tilted his head, his thick, moon-pale hair straggling around his shoulders and down his back. A creature of beauty, darkness and danger, he stood over his doll and further explained his past.

"A few reapers thought they'd make a name for themselves by coming after me to take it by force. I suppose they had short attention spans, or they didn't believe I was so attuned to my scythe that it couldn't be done." His smile faded into a frown, and his eyes unfocused with the memory of the blood, the screams, the betrayal and his own near death.

"They nearly finished me," he whispered. His bright smile returned abruptly, his mood shifting without warning. "But I was the one to survive. Dispatch left me alone after that, and I was free to pursue my new passion—so long as I didn't break the tenets of Shinigami law. It all went fine until I finally started to get bored again, a couple of years ago. Then I met the Viscount and he gave me an interesting proposition...so interesting that I couldn't pass it up. That's when I made my dollies, and when some of the reaper agents found out about it, I became a fugitive."

Undertaker banished his scythe and sat back down on the coffin beside Jase's, retrieving his now room temperature tea and having a sip of it. "How's _that_ for a long-winded tale, eh? Now you know why we won't be staying here for more than a few days."

"Because of your dolls…so I'm illegal?" Jase observed, "Would they destroy me because I'm not supposed to exist? Why create me if it is my kind that caused you to be on the run in the first place?"

Undertaker had a chuckle at Jase's use of the word 'illegal'. "Funny, I'm your master and yet you're the one referring to yourself as though you were cargo. I suppose you aren't wrong, though. You shouldn't exist in this state according to Shinigami law, and they may very well try to destroy you, if they discover your nature. They'll have to go through me first, though."

Undertaker considered him quietly for a few moments, at a bit of a loss to explain some of his own feelings on the matter. Jase was precious to him because he represented the pinnacle of his achievements, and that alone was enough reason for him to protect him and keep him. It was more than that, though. He'd gotten to know him a bit when he was fooling with his records, but there was a difference between watching a person's events and getting to know their thoughts and feelings. He was curious to learn more about what made Jase who he was, and what drove him.

"As I said to you before; I created you because I wanted to see if it could be done," Undertaker sighed at last. "It's the same reason I created the other Bizarre Dolls. I was willing to risk the backlash, for the sake of knowledge."

"It is not fair, but people are often treated as unequal to others." Jase pointed out, "Women under men, colored skin under white… c'est un ramassis de conneries si vous me demandez. I have known women who are stronger than men, and get less then half the respect. I am no longer human…it would not surprise me if I am now seen as below all others because of it. And if the others you had created are seen as such, I would be no different, even if I still have my memories…"

"Yes, it's foolishness," agreed Undertaker, "but you are correct: hierarchies are the way of things, be it in the animal, human or supernatural worlds. You aren't _below_ them, however. You're _above_ them, now. You've become something greater than human."

Undertaker leaned toward him, and he reached out to slide his fingers beneath Jase's chin, urging him to look at him. In the shadowed, dim light, the doll's pupils had expanded ever so slightly from the barely visible pinpoints to something almost human in size. Undertaker smiled at him, and he caressed his face with his nails.

"I can sense that spark in you...that flame. I believe it holds some of the answers to both our questions, and I also believe this was fated to happen. It will be very interesting to see what gifts you may develop, from this. I'm quite confident you'll survive, now."

Jase stayed silent, gazing up at the reaper's face, and nearly getting lost in his eyes once more. "Do you regret it? Giving up your life as you had been living it? Your home? A life on the run…isn't it stressful?" He shifted so that his legs were under him again, "You left your status or whatever because you wanted freedom…and being on the run…isn't that giving up the freedom you had wished for?"

Undertaker pulled his hand away with a frown of thought. He could certainly say one thing for the little chap; he made him exercise his noggin. "Hmm, interesting point." He shrugged, and he took another sip of his tea. "Maybe I _have_ traded one prison for another, but I still say where I go and when. I answer to no-one, and I've satisfied my curiosity. As you spend time with me, you will come to see that I'm a very, very curious reaper. I need to learn, and I need to laugh. Life would be so dull, without these things."

"And what about love or companionship? Family? Friends? I imagine even a grim reaper would need something of the sort…someone to talk to…It's why you talk out loud to yourself, isn't it? It's…" Jase paused and lowered his voice and gaze as he realized something, "It's why you started making Dolls…why you made me…at least part of it may have been out of loneliness and a need for companionship…"

Undertaker stared wordlessly at him and sipped his tea. The expression on his pallid, sculpted features was guarded.

Jase stared him down, "…am I wrong?" he finally asked after the minuets had ticked by. His throat felt tight. What if he was wrong? What if the reaper didn't seek companionship? That he created Jase's new life simply because he could, rather than in hopes of a…friend? He didn't know why, but the thought was painful.

Undertaker hesitated, lowering his gaze. The thick fringe of silver lashes concealed what little was visible of his vivid eyes, beneath the unruly locks of bangs partially falling over them. "Beyond the dead, I honestly can't say I've had anyone I could call 'friend' for years beyond count. Those I once worked with turned on me, and humans are so...fleeting. Like befriending a moth, to someone with my longevity."

He gave the former priest a rueful smirk. "Maybe a part of me did it out of a desire for companionship, after all. Perceptive little bugger, aren't you?"

"I'm a man who knows loneliness." Jase shrugged, "I joined the Priesthood because of it. The church…became more of a family than my father ever had been, and after Joyelle left to start her own life…the church was all I had left…so I devoted myself too it. I had need for nothing, and people needed me…even if it was only for confession or comfort. I was needed." He leaned forward, gingerly brushing the reaper's bangs aside to better gaze into his eyes, "Your eyes hold much…power, wisdom, age…but they have a glimmer of loneliness and need…at least in that, I can understand fully."

Undertaker tilted his head a bit, trying to recall the last time a living being other than a child or a mentally afflicted person had willingly reached out to touch him at all, without fear. Mortals tended to find him creepy in his mortician guise, and beautiful—yet terrifying—when he revealed his face to them. They thought him an angel of death. He was certainly no angel, but at least they got the part about death right.

He reached up to lay a long hand over Jase's smaller one, before it could withdraw. He pressed it against his scarred cheek, and he smiled at him. "What remarkable vision you have, my dear. Funny, I never really like to think of myself as 'lonely', but your words have a ring of truth to them."

"Then let me stay…not just as your 'masterpiece', but as your friend…" Jase whispered, letting his hand linger and be pressed against the man's scarred cheek.

Undertaker withdrew his hand from on top of Jase's, thinking over his proposition. Generally a master would never call his minion "friend", but he hadn't exactly been treating him as a servant so far, anyhow. There was something more complex in this newfound relationship than 'master and servant'. He could almost believe he might have found someone with the potential to understand him—a thing that no others could boast.

Even if he was wrong about that, there was no harm in playing nice. This was no mindless zombie. This dollie could think and reason, and he was far too charming for his own good.

"I can hardly comprehend the concept of friendship, any longer," admitted the reaper softly. He gazed into the swirly blue eyes of his companion, and he shrugged. "You may have to teach me how that works, love."

"A friend…is someone you can trust and talk to…spend time with…care about…someone who'll be there for you when you need it." He withdrew his fingers, "I won't let you feel lonely."

Undertaker wasn't sure how ready he was to trust anyone, but he'd already spoken of things to Jase that he hadn't talked about in what felt like ages. The sincerity in the young man's voice and expression endeared the ancient reaper to him, if only because he truly seemed to believe he needed someone and despite his own situation, he was offering himself as that...friend.

He didn't quite know how to respond to the unexpected kindness. He wasn't usually a recipient of such a thing, and there was still a chance that Jase could sicken and perish. His body was still unusually warm, and though Undertaker was beginning to suspect that was now the norm for him, he didn't intend to brush it off until he knew for certain.

Finally, he thought of something to say in response to his offer. "Are you so sure you want death as a friend?"

"Are you sure you want a man who dedicated his life to God all because a pretty girl stole his heart and then ran off with another man?" Jase countered, "It's not what you are…it's who you are. And besides, I have already promised you I'd stay. And though I'm a man of my word…a friend would be nice…"

Undertaker chuckled at the first bit, and he nodded at the second. "You raise interesting points. Very well, then, we'll try it your way." So far, Jase had been nothing but cooperative with him. It surprised him that he would accept his fate so readily, but then he'd demonstrated a greater stoicism than average. Some people were simply more resilient to suffering.

Undertaker took out his pocketwatch when he realized how dark the room was getting. He whistled softly at the time, "It's already past four in the afternoon. My, my, how time soars."

He looked at his new 'friend', taking note of his hair's tangled state. He couldn't really give it a good wash and a brush until his scalp healed some more, but by the looks of it, that wouldn't take long. Jase had already shown signs of healing much faster than a human being. Thinking of that little difference made him consider other things that may or may not have changed. The doll had fully functioning organs, and he'd been drinking all day since Undertaker took him out of the bathroom.

Never the most subtle reaper, he'd picked up on London slang and his mouth was prone to going off before his mind could censor it, "Do you need a piss?"

Jase's face flushed and his expression turned to one of embarrassment, "There are more delicate ways of asking such a thing, Undertaker!" he protested.

Realizing what he'd said and again recalling that Jase was neither a corpse nor a ruffian, it was Undertaker's turn to be embarrassed. In fact, he was so mortified that he felt his cheeks warming up oddly—an unfamiliar, yet interesting experience for him.

"Er, right. That wasn't very...ahem. Well, if your innards still basically function the way they did when you were mortal...um, it stands to reason that you may need to...uh...powder your nose."

Undertaker looked around for his hat, suddenly wanting to cram it on his head as far down as it would go, to hide his face as completely as possible. It was clear on the other side of the room, of course, hanging on the rusty hook by the front door. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually been flustered.

"I…do have the slight urge to…" Jase muttered, no longer making eye-contact.

Hardly blaming him, Undertaker nodded. He hastily got up and went to grab his hat, and he felt much better once he'd stuffed his head into it and rearranged his fringe to again cover his eyes. He scratched his head, still blushing himself and completely unaware of it.

"Let's see if you can stand on your own," he suggested. "If you can, all I've got to do is help you into the potty and wait outside the door."

"Is there anything I could use to hold myself up in there? That might help…" Jase suggested, looking at anything but Undertaker.

The reaper considered the problem. "Ah, the towel racks!" He snapped his fingers. "Of course, they might break off the wall, but you're so slight in weight, they could do the trick. Otherwise you may have to—"

He stopped himself from using the word 'piss' again. He considered using clinical terms, but somehow 'urinate' didn't sound any classier. "Y-you might have to do your business sitting down," he finished, wondering why in blazes he was so embarrassed. He supposed it was because he couldn't remember the last time someone had actually called him out on his behavior. Ciel Phantomhive came close, but his dry, cool observations weren't the same as Jase's properly scandalized reaction.

"…One good thing about being so puny, I suppose…" Jase sighed, then finally looked up at Undertaker, "Mind helping me up before the urge becomes a little more…urgent?" he bit his lip. How embarrassing it was to need help simply to go relieve himself. He truly hoped that he would regain his strength and could walk for himself—and soon.

"Of course," answered the reaper.

He'd intended to anyway, but he was so fascinated by the feel of the heat in his face that he completely forgot. He approached the doll and he bent over him, offering his hands. Jase took them and Undertaker lifted him to his feet. Jase's grip on his hands was still weak, but with Undertaker's support, he was able to balance on his feet. The reaper helped him out of the coffin, refraining from picking him up and carrying him like a...well, like a doll.

"That's it," he encouraged. "One foot at a time."

With one arm around the small man's waist, he guided him to the toilet, next to the bathroom. It was a small space, so in addition to using the towel rack as support, Jase could probably lean back against the wall. Undertaker left the light off to spare his sensitive eyes, and he helped him through the doorway. When Jase had a firm hold on the rack against the wall, the reaper cautiously released him.

Jase wobbled a little, but his legs held steady. Satisfied that he wouldn't pitch head-first into the toilet the moment he turned his back on him, Undertaker backed out of the room and he closed the door, leaving it open just a crack so there was at least a little bit of light for Jase to see with in the windowless room. He leaned against the wall outside the door and he put his face in one palm, shaking his head.

The little chap really did have an effect on him.

"Let me know when you've finished up," he called softly. His stomach growled and he remembered that it was getting close to dinnertime, but first, he needed to finish gathering some things from his old shop.

Leaning back against the wall, Jase hiked up the robes and unsteadily positioned himself. A moment later, he was finished and sighed, dropping the robes and flushing before calling out, "Alright, I've finished."

Undertaker went in to retrieve him, and he helped support him while he washed his hands in the basin. Feeling him tremble, he presumed he'd used up most of the reserves of his strength. When they stepped back out into the main room, Undertaker scooped him into his arms just as the doll's legs began to buckle.

"That's still better than you did when you woke up," he said to him with a smirk, and then he carried him over to the coffin to ease him back down into it. He refilled the water pitcher and replaced it by Jase's coffin, and he looked around in thought.

"Bare as bones, this place is." He sighed. "But I can't just leave you with nothing to do while I'm gone."

With that in mind, he left Jase and he went down into the basement. He retrieved a shuttered lantern that should provide enough light for Jase to read by without hurting his sensitive eyes, and he chose a few books. One was a beginner's medical book that he intended to get Jase started on. The young man said that he liked to help people, so Undertaker reasoned that it wouldn't be too difficult to get him to study medicine. He could introduce the more gruesome things later, once he could determine how strong Jase's constitution was. He snatched a book of limericks and another book of fairy tales, before heading back up the stairs.

"Here we are," Undertaker sang out happily, grinning beneath his bangs. "I'd like you to get started on the medical studies as soon as possible, but I'm sure your head can only take so much right now."

He sat down on the shut coffin next to Jase's and he showed him the books. "This one's for learning," he said, "and these other two are just for fun. I'll get this lantern started for you to read by, and when I get back I'll fashion that blindfold I promised you and cook a meal. There should be enough water in that pitcher to sustain your thirst while I'm gone."

"Thank you…" Jase picked up the medical book, "It may take me quite a while…I didn't focus much on learning to read English, as I had learning to speak it…don't be surprised if you come back and I have marked a bunch of words I can't figure out…English is such a complicated language…" he glanced down at the other two books, "Maybe I should start with those ones, though…" Sighing, he looked up at Undertaker with a small smile, "Where are you going this time?"

"I'm just gathering a few things from my old shop, while I still can," he answered. "Tomorrow, I'll begin tutoring you. I imagine it'll be much easier for you to follow if you've got me reading the material for you and explaining it. We'll begin physical therapy, too. The best way to recover strength in the muscles is with stretching and exercise."

Undertaker grinned down at him. "We can also slip you into your own clothes. I don't know how you feel about wearing your old priestly garb, but it's surely better than swimming in mine 'till we can have something more suitable tailored for you."

Jase nodded, "I'll be fine for now with my robes. Anything is better than being exposed." He said, slipping Undertaker's robe back up his shoulder after it had slid down, "I'll be here when you get back."

Satisfied that his dollie would be okay on his own for a little while longer than before, Undertaker checked the concealing aura around his temporary residency first. It was what masked his presence from anyone with the ability to detect and track reaper auras. While it was a wonderful way to hide his dwelling from Dispatch, he would need to move on again soon. The fastest way to get caught was to stay in one place for too long. Eventually, he'd probably need to leave London altogether, but that was a concern for later.

Undertaker locked up and left Jase alone. He didn't bother hailing a carriage. Instead he cloaked himself from mortal sight and he took to the rooftops, running and jumping over them with ease typical of his kind. He sped across the city swiftly, his boots hardly touching the icy rooftops as they tread on them. He stopped across the street from his shop, and he nearly overbalanced and pitched right over the top of the roof of the flower shop.

"Oh, bugger," muttered the reaper. In the dying evening light, he saw two people standing outside his shop, and one of them was easy to recognize even without visual aid to correct his nearsightedness. The crimson shade of his long hair was a dead giveaway, even if his complaints wouldn't have been.

"This is ridiculous," snapped Grell Sutcliff to his companion—whom Undertaker couldn't recognize from this distance. "What makes them think he's going to be foolhardy enough to come back here?"

Undertaker smirked, even as he hunkered down behind a roof structure, just in case. Apparently, Sutcliff didn't know him very well.

"Senpai," called another familiar, young voice a moment later. Undertaker dared a peek to see Ronald Knox stepping out of his shop.

"He's cleaned the place out," explained the blond with a sigh. "I checked all the coffins and everything. The place looks like a tornado hit it. I don't know how he snuck in with us watching the place, but Undertaker's been here and gone since we got back."

"Well, isn't that just _perfect_," groused Sutcliff. "Yet _another_ gorgeous man has eluded me." The redhead flipped his bright locks over his shoulder in a dramatic gesture of frustration.

Undertaker couldn't see the details of Ronald's expression from this distance, but he got the distinct impression that the young man was worried about his mentor. "You really need to be more selective with your love interests. I think you like pain a little too much."

"Love is pain," insisted Grell. He looked at the reaper beside him and he shrugged. "Stay here and guard this dump with the others, while Ronnie and I report back. I've had enough for the day."

He and Ronald created a portal back to their home realm, while the other reaper went back inside the shop. Undertaker sighed. He had no way of knowing how many he'd find waiting for him in there, if he tried to go inside to retrieve the rest of his volumes. If he didn't have his dollie to take care of, he might have tried to get them anyway, but he decided it was best not to tempt fate. He could take risks when he was sure Jase could take care of himself, should anything happen to him.

Grumbling with disappointment, the ancient made his way back across the city, silently bidding his old shop adieu.

-x-

English was hard. The bizarre doll gave a frustrated grumble as he reached yet another word he couldn't make out. Whoever came up with how they spell things in English must have been heavy on the drink. Oh how he missed his own beautiful language of his homeland…

"Le français est beaucoup plus facile à comprendre. Anglais ne peut même pas suivre ses propres règles..." he scowled to himself, snapping the book closed once more.

He paused when the door opened, sooner than he thought it would, and he looked up from the frustrating page of limericks to see Undertaker walking in and hanging his hat upon the old hook by the door. Jase smiled, "Bienvenue à la maison." He greeted before realizing that in his frustration of the book, he'd resorted back to French, "Welcome home." He translated.

Undertaker looked up from the keys he was fiddling with, and he gave him one of his broad, white-toothed grins. "Greeting me in both languages, pet? I feel loved!"

He crossed the room to him, moving like a creature of air for all the noise his footfalls made. He peered down at the book in Jase's hand. "Ah, good choice! That's one of my favorites for a chuckle. Are you enjoying it?"

"No," Jase admitted with another frustrated sigh, "Seeing as I can hardly get every third word…it comes out a bunch of gibberish." He looked up, "Did you get what you needed? You are back earlier than I thought you would be."

The bright smile faded, and Undertaker shook his head. "Alas, no. My shop was being watched by the people I'm trying to avoid, so I thought I'd better not chance it. Instead, I picked up a roast from the market on the way back."

He held up the burlap sack containing the meat. "I'll just season this up and pop it into the oven with some potatoes and carrots. While it's cooking, I'll make you a couple blindfolds from one of my old robes. The material ought to be soft enough to wear comfortably for several hours, without chafing."

"Oh, I see…I hope it wasn't anything terribly important or precious to you that you had to leave behind…" Jase said, his hand moving to the locket around his neck, "But I'm glad they didn't spot you."


	4. Hunger

**Just a Doll **

**Chapter 4**

_Though Jase still couldn't taste anything and he didn't seem to be prone to hunger, he ate a bit with me that night. Afterwards, I made some blindfolds for him so that I could see what I was doing around the house at night, without hurting his eyes. I began to tutor him after that, teaching him to read English more easily and instructing him on human biology and medicine. Jase in turn helped me to improve my French, and the communication between us has improved, as a result. When his scalp healed enough for it, I gave him a nice, thorough head-wash, trimmed a little off the ends of his hair and brushed it for him. He really enjoyed that. I think I'll do it again, sometime._

_His strength and coordination have improved day by day, and he was able to walk on his own after three days of therapy. Jase doesn't care much for the exercises and stretches I put him through. His muscles and joints were stiff when he awoke from his transition, and training them to regain elasticity has been uncomfortable for him. He puts on a stiff upper lip and powers through it, hardly complaining at all._

_I'm not the best teacher in the world, but my dollie is eager to learn. He sits and listens so attentively as I show him the diagrams and explain in detail how each organ, sinew, bone, muscle and artery works. He puts up with my jokes—which I know are horrid to most people. He smiles politely and he even offers a chuckle here and there, but I know he's only being polite, most of the time. He seems to take more pleasure out of watching me crack myself up than in the puns and jokes, themselves._

_His temperature remains consistently high, and it climbs a bit each day. He must take an icy bath every few days to lower it again, or else he starts to get uncoordinated and confused, as any fevered person would. By contrast, my body temperature is lower than the average mortal, and he seems to unconsciously inch closer to me during lessons. Perhaps the chill of the reaper is soothing to him._

_I sometimes catch him reading passages in his bible, and he always hastily shuts it and looks uncomfortable when I do so. How do I tell this unique, tormented creature that giving his faith the silent treatment won't banish it forever? He longs for what he's lost, yet he resents his maker for what was done to him. Funny thing, that; I would expect him to resent me, since I turned him into a dollie in the first place. He doesn't seem to blame me for that, however. His anger lies with God and his angels. He says they are the ones who ultimately did this to him, by burning him with the holy flame. I did rob him of his death, though. He wouldn't be suffering this way, if it weren't for my intervention. I doubt I need to remind him of that; I can see it in his eyes sometimes._

_He's conflicted, my dollie. I think a part of him wants to hate me, but his heart is too generous to allow that. As for myself, I don't think I'm a very good friend. It's a new experience for me, and though I'm ultimately just humoring him to keep him cooperative and healthy, I do try. I tease him when he falters, my mouth runs away with me and I say things that offend his sensibilities, but then he always gives me that forgiving little smile. He has dimples when he smiles. A fellow could get used to that._

_Unfortunately, I don't think my dollie's sense of taste and temperature perception will ever return. It has been a week, and I haven't seen any sign of improvement. I've concluded that he doesn't require food any longer, in fact. That's a shame, because I know how he envies me the ability to enjoy my food. I've begun to take my meals in the kitchen, when he's studying. It troubles me to see that wistful look in his eyes, and it makes objectivity more difficult to come by._

_His thirst remains unquenchable. Though he can't smell or taste the aroma or flavor of tea or juice, he'll drink anything that will offer some small relief. I had to stop him from drinking some coffee I'd brewed the other morning, as it would only serve to dehydrate him further._

_I've never had someone all my own, before. I've had associates, underlings, bosses and of course my dollies, but there was no exchange of affection in any of those relationships...not like I have now with Jase. It's interesting, and a bit disturbing at times._

_Poor dollie, and poor Undertaker. Why do I feel sorry for myself, you ask? Well, the answer is rather simple. I'm becoming attached to him, to my little experiment. I see that now, and I admit to myself that some of my acts of charity aren't done solely for practical purposes. I...enjoy seeing some of the tragedy fade from his eyes whenever I do something that cheers him up._

_I caught him watching me brush my hair this morning, and he looked as though he wanted to offer to help me with it, but was too shy. Perhaps I'm only inventing the covert looks of interest, but I think my dollie shares my attraction, and he struggles with that. The good book likely has him convinced his wanker will catch fire if he so much as kisses me. Still, I wonder what he would do if I cupped his face and lip-locked with him. Would he struggle? Would he cry? Or would he, perhaps, put his arms around his master and return his kisses?_

_Where was I? Oh, right. We'll have to pack up and get moving, soon. I've lingered too long in one place as it is. I haven't yet decided where we'll go from here, but perhaps Jase has a suggestion for me. Much as I loathe using the queen's currency, my priorities shifted when I began working with the Aurora Society, because I knew I'd have the law of both realms after me if I got discovered. Viscount Druitt paid me handsomely for my contribution to the cause, and I've amassed further wealth from his associates in Germany. I have enough in my coffers to get us by for several months, and I can do odd jobs on the side to keep those coffers filled._

_It's a pity. I would still prefer a laugh over cash payment, but sometimes we must put aside what we want and take what we need, instead._

* * *

Jase walked into the main room from the kitchen, holding a glass of water. A blue ribbon pulled back his long hair in a loose ponytail that rested over his shoulder. Shortly after he had regained the ability to walk, Undertaker had taken him out to be fitted for a few outfits to replace his priestly robes. He supported a light blue blouse layered under a dark blue waistcoat and black slacks. His locket hung around his neck, rather than where most men would wear a tie or ascot, and a silver pocket watch lay in his waistcoat pocket, the beads from his old rosary decorating the chain.

He looked around the room, spotting Undertaker over at a table that the man used as his desk, scribbling away in a journal. He approached silently, reaching out and grabbing a book from the edge of the table and walking over to sit in the old chair in the corner of the room. His blindfold was on, but his blindfolds were very lace-like and allowed him to see through them so that he wasn't fully blind when he was in brighter light, and it did feel good to sit in the sunlight that came through the window near the chair, even if it made him warmer faster.

Undertaker detected the motion, though his eyes remained on his journal. He felt a momentary flash of alarm at the thought of Jase reading some of his entry over his shoulder, but he reminded himself that his spidery scrawl was difficult at best for others to read, and Jase was blindfolded. Deciding he was finished with the entry and getting bored, he put the pen away and he closed his the book. He locked the journal and he got out of his chair to approach the doll, who was sitting in a spot of sunlight in the chair in the corner of the room.

Mischievous as always, the retired reaper leaned over, letting his pale hair dangle over the book in Jase's hands. "What're you reading?"

"I'm trying the limericks again. I might get them now that I know a little more on how to read English." Tilting his head up, Jase looked through the blindfold at the reaper, "Did I interrupt what you were doing?"

"Not a bit," assured Undertaker. He realized that he hadn't given Jase the same courtesy, and though the young man was too polite to say so, he didn't seem to be in the mood for play.

Undertaker resisted a sigh and he withdrew from Jase's light. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. We've got your therapy in an hour and lessons after that, so enjoy yourself. I'd like to discuss possible new locations with you, when we've finished the day's lessons."

He checked his pocket watch. "Hopefully, the delivery will arrive on time."

"Delivery? What delivery?" The doll asked, his interest perked, "And if you wish to speak with me, you need only say so. I only chose to sit with a book in hand as you looked busy on something important." Snapping the book shut, he leaned over in the chair, leaning on the armrest with folded arms, the book dangling from his fingers off the side.

Taking a moment to appreciate the serene picture he made, Undertaker replaced his watch. "This afternoon's medical instruction is going to be special. I've got—"

There was a knock at the door, and Undertaker paused, turned and smiled. "Oh, that must be our delivery, now! How lovely."

He went to the door, checked through the peep-hole and unlocked it. He took his hat off the hook to place it on his head, before turning the knob. A couple of rough looking men stood waiting on the other side, and they immediately shrank away when the tall, silver-haired reaper opened the door and grinned down at them like they were candy on a platter.

Jase set aside the book in his hand and stood up, walking a little closer to the door for a better, curious look. Though he made sure to stick to the shadows as people often gave him strange looks for his blindfold, which had cause a confrontation of sorts the one time he left the little hideout to get fitted for his new wardrobe.

"Afternoon, gents," greeted Undertaker, tipping his hat.

"G-good afternoon," answered the man on the left—a pudgy, unshaven fellow with greasy dark hair and brown eyes. His young ginger friend stared at Undertaker with something between fear and curiosity.

"Got a body for ya," said the ginger in a heavy cockney accent. He nodded at the rickety, horse-drawn cart waiting in the street. He offered the reaper a burlap coin pouch, and he cringed a bit when Undertaker plucked it from his hand with his long, black nails. Undertaker weighed it in his palm before bringing it to his ear and giving a jingle. He turned a bit to see Jase peeking out behind him.

"You're short," he announced.

"Wh-what?" Jase bristled, his eyes widening behind his blindfold and a pink flush crossing his face from cheek to cheek, "What does my height have to do with anything? If anything—you're too tall!" He was a little sensitive about his size, and was fine with it only until someone pointed it out. Sure, the reaper had mentioned it once before, but he had been focused on other things, such as passing out a human and waking up an undead doll.

Undertaker stared blankly at his offended dollie, and he scratched his head in wonderment. "Eh? I didn't say a thing about your...your...oh." He started to chuckle as it dawned on him, and the chuckle soon became snickers—which led into outright guffaws of mirth. The humans backed away a little, and Jase's expressive young face managed to pull off an air of offended dignity, even with the blindfold veiling his glare.

Undertaker had to take a moment, before he could talk. He leaned against the doorframe and he laughed until he had tears in his eyes. The sun hid behind a cloud and a light snow began to fall. He finally caught his breath enough to talk again, and he held up the bag of coins.

"I meant the payment is short," he explained, jingling the pouch again to listen. He nodded and he looked at the dirty mortals waiting by the door. "This isn't the price we agreed on."

"It's all he gave us," answered the portly man. "You'll have ta take it up with the guvnor. All we did was bring the body and the coin."

Jase felt his face darken more at his misunderstanding…and he so dearly wanted to go curl up in the coffin that had somehow become his bed, and pull the sift silk pillow over his head…but he settled with simply backing up a few paces behind the open door where an icy draft was blowing in.

Casting one last, amused glance at his diminutive, blushing companion, Undertaker returned his attention to the ruffians. "Let me ask you chaps something," he said, absently flicking a crawling bug off the shoulder of the younger one before he could so much as flinch. "When you were on your way here, did you happen to pocket a few coins for yourself?"

"I don't—" began the older one, and Undertaker suddenly loomed over him, with his eyes flashing beneath his bangs and his death's head grin uncommonly white.

"Hmm?" prompted the reaper, leaning over the shorter man until he was bending backwards. "Have a care with how you answer that, chump."

"I...I...I..."

"Something in your eye?" Undertaker grabbed the man around his thick throat, squeezing just enough to keep him from pulling away. "I could have a look." He wiggled the long-nailed fingers of his free hand, drawing the man's terrified gaze to it. "Course, I might put your whole eye out in the process, but it seems to be troubling you enough to distract you from answering me."

"All right, we took it!" yelled the ginger. "'Ere, ya crazy old bloke!" He dug a handful of coins from his pocket, and he tossed them at Undertaker's booted feet. He looked at his companion in alarm. "Just give it to 'em, Harvey!"

The older man was already digging in his pockets. More coins fell to the ground. Undertaker released his prisoner with a smile. "Pick those up and hand them to me properly."

They looked at each other, and the young one sighed and did as asked when his older companion nodded meaningfully. He gingerly offered the coins to Undertaker once he'd collected them, holding them out in his hand as if the reaper were a snake, ready to strike. Undertaker opened the pouch and pointed at it, and the ginger dropped the coins in.

"Now the body," reminded Undertaker when they made as if to climb back into their cart and go. "Bring it inside, gents. Be quick about it; the fellow isn't going to get any fresher while we stand around jawing in the snow."

Jase frowned, peeking out at the two men as they hurried to retrieve what they were meant to deliver, "Was that really necessary?" he asked in a tone that did little to hide his disappointment in the display.

Undertaker tucked his hands under his sleeves for warmth and he closed the door a bit to cut down on the amount of frigid air getting into the house. "If I allowed these fellows to take advantage of me, word would get out that I'm an easy mark."

He grinned at the gentle-natured, former priest. "What would you rather me do, beat it out of them?"

Jase flinched, "I'd rather you not resort to violence. It should be a last resort, never a first."

"Then you're in luck," reasoned Undertaker with a shrug. "I didn't resort to violence. I resorted to scaring the piss out of them."

Sighing, the doll shook his head and peaked out the window as the men came back, carrying something long and heavy, wrapped in a tarp. One man kicked the door open with his heel and they shifted inside, "Where d'ya want it?" one man asked, brushing by Jase at a hair's breath.

Jase stiffened, his eyes widening as, for the first time since he awoke as a Doll, felt his stomach twist in hunger, his mouth watering, and his hands twitching.

"Down those stairs behind me," answered the reaper, "in the basement. Drop it on the examination table there, and I'll take care of the rest."

With the older man carrying the head and shoulders and the younger carrying the feet, they started toward the staircase. "Hope ya plan to make good on your end," said the older man in a respectful, but warning tone. "The guvnor won't take it kindly if this fellow doesn't vanish like ya promised."

Undertaker crossed his arms over his torso, unconcerned. "Tell him he needn't worry about that. I've got a solution that'll melt the flesh right off of the bones, when I'm finished with him."

"And what'll ya do with the bones?" asked the younger man, looking over his shoulder with a curious, foreboding grimace.

Undertaker smiled. "Knife handles, candle holders, ash trays...there are so many useful things I can make from a human skeleton—even Jewelry."

Both men shuddered, and the young one looked like he was sorry he'd asked. Undertaker smirked at his dollie, anticipating a moral outburst from him. When he saw the look on his face, he frowned.

"That's not the face of the righteously indignant," he muttered. "Feeling sickly, are you?"

Jase ignored his companion, taking a few stiff steps forward, his eyes focused on the back of the older man's exposed neck. And then in the blink of an eye, he leapt forward, knocking over the larger man with surprising ease, his teeth sinking deep into the man's shoulder.

While the older fellow screamed and tried to shake the doll off of him, his younger companion dropped the feet of the body he was carrying and backed against the wall, his eyes huge in his face.

"Wha the 'ell's he doin?" shouted the ginger.

"Get him off me!" cried the older man in a panicked scream, "Oh god, get him off!"

Undertaker just stared stupidly for a minute, fascinated by the transformation in his dollie. Jase hadn't reacted like this to the presence of the tailor he took him to earlier in the week, and Undertaker knew damned well the man was just as human as these fellows. He watched for a moment, his mind spinning with possibilities. He'd gone straight for the older man. Was it a question of distance, or was there something that drew Jase's attention to him first?

Jase's victim managed to turn, and he was shoving his hands against the ravenous doll's chest, trying to hold him at bay. He put his hands around Jase's throat, and Undertaker's otherworldly senses told him that this man had used his hands in such a way before—to strangle the life out of a boy.

The tailor, on the other hand, was a kindly grandfather of two, who had never harmed anyone.

He thought he understood, then. Either Jase's hunger for living flesh hadn't kicked in yet at the clothing shop because he was so new, or...

"It's the _sinners_ you find so nummy," reasoned the ancient with a smile, "but not just _any_ sinners. Everybody sins, according to your dogma. It's the evildoers that you hunger for."

While he was standing there debating the nature of his pet's hunger, Jase was determined to make a meal of the ruffian he was wrestling with. The younger man was trying to pry Jase off of his companion, but the doll's supernatural strength was too great for him.

_"Don't let me hurt anyone! Don't let me harm an innocent!"_

Remembering the vow, Undertaker decided to shelf his suspicions to test them later. He crossed the room to the struggling group and he roughly shoved the ginger man off of his dollie, before grabbing Jase from behind to drag him away. His strength was much greater than the humans', and he pulled his resisting, flailing companion with him.

He was much stronger than the other bizarre dolls.

Undertaker remembered at the last moment that he'd employed some conditioning into Jase's cinematic records, and he made use of that now. Only his voice would work, and only the correct phrase would do it. "Jase, your master commands you to stop."

The doll stopped struggling in his arms, whimpering with frustration and need. Undertaker turned him around to face him, while the would-be snack got to his feet and pressed a hand against his bleeding shoulder. Jase had torn a nice chunk out of it, and it was bleeding profusely.

"Look at me, love," urged the reaper, taking his hat off and shaking his bangs out of his eyes. He tugged Jase's blindfold up so that the wildly dilates, swirly blue eyes could gaze into his. "Look at me. Let it go."

Jase's pupils dilated so small, the usually tiny dot was near invisible, his eyes widened, and with a cry of pain, the doll shrank back, covering his eyes with his arm and clumsily bumping into the table that was near him, knocking things over. But slowly, his senses came to him, and all he could taste—yes, taste—was the metallic flavor of blood. His mouth gapped open, the large chunk of human flesh and cloth tumbling out to the ground, blood spilling down his chin and dripping onto his shirt.

"Oh, G-God almighty…" he gasped, realizing what he had done, "Oh mon Dieu, qu'ai-je fait? Je suis...Je suis un monstre!" He began to tremble, eyes shut tight against the light.

Undertaker refrained from reaching out to touch him, guessing that he needed a moment. "You're no monster. You're just...complicated." He looked over at the men who were inching their way to the door, and he saw the older one draw a pistol from inside of his jacket, aiming it at Jase with obvious intent.

He reacted without clear thought. He intercepted the shot meant for his dollie, and he felt a sick, hot pain in his left side as the bullet went in. He ignored it. He was upon the human in a flash, kicking the weapon out of his hand with his boot, while manifesting his scythe in his hands. They were both too stunned by the sight of the reaping weapon materializing out of thin air to do more than stare with horror. He gave both humans a mad, fierce smile as a strange emotion surfaced within him.

"It's not nice to try and wreck another man's dollie," he informed the older one, and he began to swing the scythe.

Feeling numb, and vaguely hearing the commotion and shot of a gun, Jase managed to pull his blindfold back down so that he could see without being in pain, and slowly turned his head in time to see the reaper's magnificent scythe materialize. He stumbled, his body not quite listening to him in it's shocked state as he scrambled forward behind Undertaker and hugged him from behind, "No…" he breathed, "won't they find us if you use that..?" He'd been told a little about a Reaper's scythe. The scythe collects the soul of a person on the brink of death, already gone (Though if left too long, the soul could escape as a ghost), or killed by it, and the records and soul would all go to a library the reapers had…or something like that. Their location could be compromised, and they hadn't really a plan on where to go next.

With one arm wrapped tight around Undertaker's waist, the other moved along his arm holding the scythe, as if to halt it from moving.

Undertaker stumbled under the sudden interference, and he grunted with discomfort as Jase's hold on him inadvertently shifted the bullet inside of him. The doll's words registered, and he didn't have time to explain to him that he'd taken measures to prevent any tracking of his scythe. Dispatch didn't even know he still _had_ it, until he revealed it on the Campania.

"No pleading for their lives?" he asked, the strange feeling of anger fading in the face of curious amusement. "I must confess, Jase, I would have expected you to argue on the basis of mercy, rather than practicality."

"You still shouldn't kill…" Jase blushed, "'Thou shalln't kill'. I still value the commandments…But that man…he _smells_ sinful…overwhelmingly so…I…I don't understand it, but…" he bit his lip.

Undertaker looked at the two quaking humans. "Go," he told them, jerking his chin toward the door. "And if you breathe a single word of this to the Yard, I'll be sure to tell them where the body in my house came from. What do you think your employer will do to you then, hmm?"

The men had no argument for him. They left without another word, and Undertaker called out an advisory that the older fellow to get that bite treated, before it became infected. As the door swung on its hinges with their passing, Undertaker reached down to lay a hand over the arm still wrapped tightly about his waist.

"They're gone now, my dear. While I find it flattering that you threw yourself at me, your passionate embrace is causing a bit of a pinch." He gently disengaged the arm, and Jase's sleeve came away wet with his blood.

Undertaker clucked his tongue and turned around to face the doll. "This is why I wear black," he said with a pained grin, looking down at the crimson-stained sleeve. "But if we remove this shirt now, I may be able to salvage it before the stain sets."

He brushed the pad of his thumb over the doll's parted, bloody lips. "Your face could use a wash, too. Come along. We'll lock the front door and get this taken care of, before I deal with our oblivious guest there, on the floor."

"Y-you're hurt!" Jase gasped, the numb feeling in his body fading as concern took over. When had Undertaker gotten hurt? It took him a second to remember that he'd heard a gun go off. The reaper was shot, then? "…You've been shot…"

Undertaker forgave him his late perception, on account of the flesh hunger that had consumed him, moments ago. "It's nothing, pet. Takes a lot more than a little bullet to kill a reaper." He pressed a hand against the blood-dampened spot in his robes, and he could feel the injury closing already.

"Unfortunately, I can't just leave the shot nestled all cozy in my external oblique." He took a step and grimaced, but he'd fought through much, much worse injuries than this. "Come on, love. Looks like we're both taking our shirts off."

He tried to make a joke of it, to ease his companion's anxiety. "Now, you may want to throw yourself at me again," he teased, "but I shall do my best to resist."

Jase blushed again and looked away, removing his soiled and blood-stained shirt and waistcoat as he followed Undertaker, "…I did not 'throw myself at you', I was merely stopping you from killing a man…"

"Excuses, excuses." Undertaker unbuttoned the outer layer of his robes, and he absently nudged the wrapped body out of the way with his foot before going down the stairs. He looked back at his companion when Jase hesitated, and he saw him looking down at the body.

"I was thinking of making you a brother," said the reaper. "Then you can see how different you are from the other dollies."

At Jase's horrified look, Undertaker laughed. "Kidding! I was going to give you first-hand experience on working with a cadaver, to help your studies along. We might not have time for that, though. It seems I may need to dispose of that poor sod and get our travel arrangements underway. Come, Jase. That stain is going to set, if I don't use my special soak to get it out. I'll let you say last rites over the body later, if it will make you feel better."

"…I'm not a priest any longer…" Jase muttered under his breath as he followed the reaper down into the always dimly lit basement. Despite how creepy and dank the room looked, being able to be without his blindfold during the daylight was a nice break for him, and he slipped his blindfold off.

"No, you aren't." Undertaker smiled, his back turned to the doll as he loosened and removed the rest of his outer garments, draping them over his arm. Now clad only in his black pants and the thigh-high, black leather boots with their many buckles and straps, Undertaker turned to face his companion again, reaching out for Jase's shirt. He saw the way the doll had pushed up his blindfold, and the way the unique blue eyes scanned his pale chest and torso, lingering on the scars striping him in various places. The former priest handed his shirt over, but his gaze followed the winding scars on Undertaker's body with a sort of wonder...and perhaps a bit of pity.

Undertaker took the garments from him, and bundled it with his own. He glanced down at his bare chest, partially concealed by the ash-pale hair and the little braid falling over it. He traced the largest scar on his chest with a fingernail, following the diagonal path from his right pectoral down to his left side.

"Yes, I have many scars," he murmured, sobering a bit. His smile returned as he looked back at Jase again. "But I don't regret a single one."

He carried the garments over to the sink and he dropped them into the wooden bucket at the foot of it. He filled the bucket with cold water, and then he perused his shelves for the solution he used to quickly get out bloodstains before they set.

Jase's eyes still lingered on Undertaker's reveled form. Though they had spent plenty of time together, he'd never seen the man without his clothes, always dressing himself in the small bathroom. Not that Jase had ever thought much of it. He himself did all his changing in the small room as well. But now the reaper was half exposed for the first time, and he was—beautiful. His deathly pale white skin, almost as white as snow—and yet not unhealthy-looking, his strong, but not overly built muscles… Jase almost had assumed the man was scrawny with all the layers he constantly wore. Even the scars, with a hint of pink to them which contrasted the white were pleasing to the eye, and he grew tempted to reach out and run his fingers along one particularly long scar running from his left shoulder and down his back under the waist of his black slacks…

No. What was he thinking? How sinful. He forced himself to turn away and walk over to the examination table.

Undertaker finished blending the solution in the bucket with water, and he dampened a cloth and approached Jase. The doll immediately gave a start and whirled around when Undertaker came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"My, my, aren't you jumpy?" Undertaker smiled at him, and he began to clean off his face. "What a frightful mess you've made of yourself. Not to worry, though." He finished wiping the young man's face off, and he bundled up the rag and tossed it into the bucket. He moved his instrument table closer to the examination table, and he hopped up onto the latter.

"I've got to turn on this overhead light, Jase," warned the reaper, "but I'll be shining it on myself, where I took my injury. Wash your hands and unwrap those instruments for me, would you? I'm going to need your assistance if I want to do this fast. Otherwise I could be digging around inside myself all afternoon."

Seeing the frown Jase gave him, and the way his eyes lingered on the uninjured looking skin where the bullet had gone in, Undertaker explained. "These scars on my body were made by death scythes, love. Ordinary weapons don't leave permanent scars on my kind, and most of them can't kill us, either. I'm going to have to make an incision and extract the bullet, and I need you to help me find it quickly."

Silently, the doll moved to do as he was told, pulling back on his blindfold so that the light could be turned on. "Were they made when you retired as a working reaper?" he asked casually, "When they tried to take your scythe?"

"Yes." Undertaker lowered his gaze, attempting to banish the memory. He found himself speaking of it more as an afterthought, however. "Even those I once thought of as friends came after me. After that, the notion became a foreign concept."

He traced another scar, his mind drifting into the past. He grimaced at the memory of the clash of metal, the screams of injured and dying reapers, and the frozen grin he'd felt on his own face as he cut them down.

Jase finished sterilizing the tools and brought them over, setting them down on the table and reaching out to place a hand of comfort on the reaper's shoulder, as if to say he was sorry for bringing up painful memories.

Undertaker gave a small start, so preoccupied by the ghosts of his past that he didn't sense the touch coming. He laid his hand over the smaller one resting on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. He wanted to believe that he could really have a companion in this doll, and not just an elaborate servant. Undertaker knew what he'd become: a real life Dr. Frankenstein. It was a bit of irony that '_Frankenstein_' was one of his favorite pieces of horror literature. He'd never said as much to Jase, and he'd actually begun to keep his copy hidden, out of concern that the doll would pick it up to read one day and identify too strongly with the monster in it.

"Let's get started, shall we?" He gave the young man's hand a pat and he gently pulled it off of his shoulder. He adjusted the angle of the light so that it was shining away from Jase and onto his torso, and he gave him the nod to lift his blindfold again so that he could see clearly. He dipped his hands in the sterilizing solution on the instrument tray and he shook them off, before selecting the scalpel.

"I'll need you to hold the mirror, and angle it so that I can see what I'm doing to myself," instructed Undertaker with a nod at the double-sided, reflective lens on the table. "I might need you to have a look too, if your eyes can bear the reflection of the light against my skin. I could almost outdo a corpse with my pallor, I know." He grinned at his own self-depreciating joke, being a thorough supporter of laughing at oneself, whenever possible.

"Are all grim reapers this pale?" Jase asked, angling the mirror until he was told it was good and to hold it still. He was curious, as Undertaker was the only death god he had ever seen—that he knew of.

Undertaker shook his head, and he shook his hair back to get it out of the way. "I need you to tie my hair back for me, lovely. I usually do it myself before opening up a client, but it slipped my mind." He nodded at the black ribbon lying on the tray, and when Jase put down the mirror to comply, he answered his question.

"It really depends on where they're from and how they form when they're 'born'. Some of my kind tan quite nicely during the summer, but in addition to being fair skinned by nature, I spend a lot of time in the dark. I think my skin's become impervious to sunlight, by now."

He shut his eyes as Jase moved around behind him to gather his hair into a ponytail and tie it back. The feel of his fingers sliding through his hair to hastily comb it into place felt nice. "I don't think my body knows how to tan," he sighed, "but I think I'd look a bit funny with one, anyhow."

"I think it'd be too much of a contrast with your hair…" Jase muttered, tying the ribbon in a bow, "I think more people would confuse you for an elderly man rather than a young man without pigment…" he moved back around and resituated the mirror once more.

Tickled that the subject had somehow gone from digging a bullet out to discussing what he'd look like with a tan, Undertaker smiled at him. "We wouldn't want people thinking I'm an old codger, would we? Oh, wait...they already do. Ah, well." He chuckled. "I appreciate the thought, though."

He rubbed some iodine tincture over the general area where the bullet went in, and then he got the scalpel ready again. He felt around gingerly where the bullet had gone in, and he grimaced as he felt it shifting around in his side, wedged in the lean muscles. "At least it didn't pierce an organ. Now then, let's see. Angle the mirror up a bit, would you?"

When Jase complied, Undertaker spread his fingers over the area and he made a small incision. "Dab that away for me," he instructed when blood welled, and when Jase hastily did so with a square of gauze, the reaper grabbed the retractor and inserted the end of it into the cut, clenching his teeth in pain. He adjusted the instrument to hold the incision open for him, and he held it in place and nodded at the table.

"I need the bullet extraction forceps, next to the tweezers."

When he received the item in question, he asked for Jase to make use of the squirt bottle to rinse more blood away so that he could see. He found the glint of the metal, and he inserted the forceps to probe for it. He hissed through clenched teeth, his lips pulling taut in a humorless grin of pain as he struggled to get the bullet. It was a shame he couldn't just leave it for his body to eventually absorb or reject, but that could take weeks, and he didn't want anything slowing him down if a fight came to him.

The doll watched in silence, squinting slightly at the light reflecting off Undertaker's skin. It was messy, but he grew interested, finding value in learning how to remove an item such as a bullet. Knowing such could save a life—not Undertaker's as he was hardly affected by it, but for many others, perhaps even himself. And saving people was much more rewarding than killing or hurting... of course, that thought only brought his mind back around to how he'd mindlessly had attacked that man earlier…and it disgusted him how he could still taste the blood and flesh on his tongue.

Undertaker noticed the expression growing on his dollie's face, and he'd seen it before in other medical students when he was still in training. "If you think you might need to chuck, get one of the pails by the sink and keep it handy. Try not to drop my mirror if you need to take a dive for it."

Jase shook his head, "I just…need to wash my mouth out after this…after what I did…"

Undertaker paused and glanced at him, his pale brow beaded with sweat. Why in the world he felt like trying to comfort the doll while he was in the middle of digging a bullet out of his flesh was beyond him, but he didn't like that ridiculous self-blame in his voice.

"You didn't do anything, Jase. That was the hunger acting, not you. The process of altering the records to create the bizarre dolls causes them to instinctively seek out the warmth of the living. They do this because they have no souls of their own, and while yours is intact, the editing I had to do to your records in order to preserve you evidently left you with that hunger, too."

He frowned in thought. "But the holy fire inside of you...that has an influence, too. I'll have to do more research to fully understand it."

He resumed his efforts to retract the bullet, grunting at the sharp, stinging pain as he separated tissue and muscle to reach it. He now wished he'd had the foresight to numb the area, first. "It was an impulse, Jase. I'm afraid it's now part of your nature..." he hissed again, and he bit his lip until it bled, "...but it can be controlled, with the proper measures. I think we...should consider practice exposure to human beings. Your...isolation isn't...going to help you learn to control it..._there_! Finally!"

Undertaker clamped down on the bullet, and he gagged in pain as he pulled it out of its nest of flesh—which was already trying to heal around it and close up. His hand shook a bit as he deposited the bullet in the metal dish on his instrument tray, and fresh blood welled up.

"Well, that was unpleasant," he muttered, feeling a little sick from the pain. "Ironic, I could be the one to end up with my head in a pail. It's been some time since I've had to do a surgical procedure on myself."

Jase was silent, moving to clean things up and placing the pail on the table for him in case he needed it.

Guessing that the doll's silence could be attributed to his angst over trying to devour the man from earlier, Undertaker finished the rest up himself, temporarily binding his rapidly healing injury to prevent any further blood dripping onto his pants. He put everything away and he prepared the instruments he'd used to be cleaned and sterilized again.

"Come," he offered, pouring a cup of water from the sink. "Rinse your mouth out."

He watched as the young man took the cup to eagerly do as suggested, and he frowned with the realization of something. "Jase, is your hurry to rinse your mouth out due strictly to moral principles, or could you actually taste that human?"

"…I can taste it…" The doll said after a long paused, never making eye contact, "The blood and flesh…I can taste it." Swallowing, he looked up at Undertaker with a pained expression, "…And I liked it…" he added in a horrified whisper.

Undertaker nodded in understanding, and he smiled gently at him. "That's none of your doing, pet. It's part of your condition, and we know for certain that you don't require it for survival."

Seeing the threat of tears in his eyes, Undertaker did something that surprised himself. He apologized. "I'm sorry," he said, "for my part in this."

Jase was just an experiment a week ago, a thing of curiosity to study and learn from. Now it troubled the reaper to see him upset, rather like when he'd kept a pet bat and it sickened, but he could do anything for it. The little fellow was simply old, and Undertaker shed a quiet tear for him when he passed. It was the only basis for comparison he had for this unwelcome, protective swell of feelings for the doll.

He reached out to stroke Jase's hair, for once not resorting to puns or riddles to cheer him up.

"It…it's not like you tried to make me a monster like this…" Jase said, clearly trying to fight the tears as they started to gather in his swirled blue eyes, and he reached up to pull down his blindfold to hide it, but Undertaker stopped him from doing so, catching his hand and holding it.

"Didn't I? Within you, I saw the perfect opportunity to create a bizarre doll that could think on its own, that could retain a human personality. How much deadlier would such a creature be, if it were at full strength and capable of thought and reason?" Undertaker smiled ruefully. "A reaper's moral compass is quite unpredictable, compared to a human's. We don't think like them, and we usually don't allow ourselves to _feel_ like them, either. If we do, the cinematic records could take us down with them, when we reap."

He frowned, confused by his own warring feelings. "I...would like to ease your suffering, but I don't know how, just yet. I'm terribly awkward at giving comfort, as you well know. I must have been good at it once, because the little nippers seemed to like me. Now I'm just..." He struggled for words, searching for the part of his fractured memories that might tell him how to relate to another person, tell him what to do. He watched a glistening tear fall from his dollie's eye and he bent over to impulsively kiss it away.

"Here now," he murmured against the smooth, heated skin, "you're no monster to me, love." He found himself embracing him with one arm, and he stopped stroking his hair to cup his chin and tilt his head back. Driven by curiosity, a strange desire to comfort and a suddenly pressing need to feel a living being's lips against his again; He pressed his thin lips firmly to Jase's own.

"Whaa-!" The brunet stiffened, his tearful blue eyes widening and a dark scarlet spread over his heated cheeks at the strangely wonderful and new feeling of another's lips upon his own. Torn between what was morally 'right' and what seemed to feel right… the small young man trembled with the inner battle.

He was spiraling into the clutches of the devil. Such a sin so great as to allow another man to lay lips upon his as if one were a woman. And yet, he found himself lingering against those pale lips that so often were twisted into a grin. His hands moved up and pressed against Undertaker's bared chest, half with the intent on pushing him away, and half with the longing to slip them up further and wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

Undertaker pulled away, only to kiss him again with more pressure. His heart began to make a ruckus in his chest as he felt Jase's hands pressing against it, and he wondered if the doll would fight him. Now that he'd tasted the velvety sweetness of his lips, he had every intention of bedding him eventually—but he was aware that Jase was still an innocent, and he had no intention of forcing himself on him.

Seduction was the key, and he needed to have a care with it, or it could backfire terribly. He turned his head to kiss him at a different angle, and he subtly pressed a thigh between his legs, gently backing him up against the table. He caressed his face and jaw, fingertips gliding over the tear-dampened skin in a coaxing manner. He stroked Jase's bare back with his other hand, letting his nails trace lightly over his spine to draw a shiver of pleasure from him.

"You are beautiful," whispered Undertaker, pausing the kiss. He descended upon the pliant, soft lips again, and this time he played a bit. He took Jase's lower lip between his and he gently sucked it, stroking his tongue over the plush flesh teasingly before applying pressure with his lips again.

Ambrosia. That was what this was, to him. He'd had his meaningless trysts here and there throughout the long, lonely centuries, but he could actually _feel_ the longing in Jase's hesitant kiss. Undertaker was quickly coming to adore him...there was simply no way around that, and he became more confident that the feeling could be mutual, even if his dollie was hesitant to act on it. He wondered again if it was a good idea to allow himself to become attached to this fascinating, darling man, but right now, his _other_ head seemed to be in charge of his actions.

He deepened the kiss, fighting a groan as his passion grew. He gently traced the crease between Jase's lips with the tip of his tongue, silently asking for access.

Jase's gut seemed to twist with excitement as he found himself backed up and pressed against the edge of the table. And each time Undertaker withdrew from the kiss, the only sounds he could manage was small gasps. Whether they were of shock, or disappointment, he didn't know. Which only startled him more. Slowly, his lips began to part, his eyes fluttering closed, and the smallest of moans escaped his lips and into Undertaker's mouth as their tongues slid over each other.

No! No, this was wrong! This was a man!

Jase jerked back, pushing Undertaker away from him with a gasp before he turned away, shakingly covering his agape lips with his fingertips. What had he done? Letting it last that long? No, letting it happen! He dodged around Undertaker and fled up the steps into the main room, nearly tripping over the forgotten body laying upon the floor as he reached the bathroom—the only room with a lock—and shut himself in.

Undertaker stood there with the foolish look of a properly gob smacked man on his pale face, blinking at the stairs. "My, he does move fast when he's got the munchies or a fright," he sighed. He'd barely had the chance to register the sudden shove and the absence of his lips, before he was up the stairs and gone from sight. Undertaker heard the bathroom door slam, and he winced.

"Well done, old chap," he muttered to himself, golf-clapping. "Good show. Perhaps next, you can strip down to your skivvies and give him a lap dance."

Trying not to take it personally, the retired death god scratched his head in thought. "How _does_ courtship work with a virginal man of the cloth, anyway? I suppose since so few of them are allowed to act on lust...let alone _think_ about it, I'm going to have to follow the example of molasses and slow it down even more."

He _had_ picked a vulnerable moment to kiss him, after all. Well, he hadn't actually picked it...Undertaker junior had. The silver reaper looked down at the rather obvious bulge of arousal in his pants and he pointed at it accusingly.

"This is all _your_ fault, and I'm holding you personally responsible."


	5. Breakfast

**Just a Doll **

**Chapter 5**

That night, Jase had stayed locked in the bathroom with his thoughts well past dark. Though he did take the time to take a long soak in a cold bath that was anything but relaxing, until he felt ready to venture back out. He toweled himself off and dressed in the night clothes he conveniently had forgotten that morning in the bathroom, and quietly slipped out the door. His bare feet padding almost silently across the wooden floor; only a few creaks giving him away. But he ignored it and slipped into the coffin that was his bed, grabbing the sheet from the foot end and pulling it up over himself simply to stay hidden.

Undertaker finished his gruesome work in the basement, having decided that lessons with a cadaver would have to wait for another time. He cut up the body, dumped it into the tub he kept in the basement and soaked it in the acid solution until the flesh was almost completely melted. He disposed of the solution carefully and he put the bones into a sack to be cremated in the morning.

Usually he enjoyed his work, but the conversation with this corpse had lacked the usual charm, and in the end he realized he was really just talking to himself. He'd begun to get used to having someone around that would actually answer him when he spoke, or at least nod and smile politely. It made him both sad and frustrated, and while he finished up, he started to blame Jase for it. If the gentle little Frenchman hadn't come into his life, he would still be quite happy to natter on with the dead and appreciate their muteness as an audience.

Now he kept wondering why nobody spoke back, and he kept reminding himself that it was because Jase wasn't there. The entire time Undertaker worked on his task, he debated going upstairs to speak with Jase and try to iron out the wrinkles, but he knew him well enough to know by now when he just needed time to think for himself and reflect.

After finishing a cheerless cleanup job, Undertaker went upstairs, used the bathroom and had a bath. He knew that Jase was in his coffin by now, but he didn't try to say anything to him. He put on his black sleep robe, and he paused as he passed Jase's coffin on his way to his own. He couldn't see anything of him but a bundle of blankets, and he guessed by the rhythm of his breathing that he was still awake.

Undertaker considered saying something to him, but he hadn't the foggiest idea of what words he could possibly offer. He was probably the last person the doll wanted to talk to, right now. With a soft sigh of frustration, Undertaker sought out his own coffin, leaning up against the wall nearby. He stepped into it, shut the lid and closed his eyes.

He'd have to put aside repairing things with Jase, for now. He was his master, and while he wouldn't hold that over him to get him into bed, he _would_ use it to gain his cooperation with assisting him, if need be.

He sighed again. He didn't want to be insensitive. "Bloody dollie," he muttered in the narrow space of his coffin, "turning me into a softie, you are."

-x-

The next morning, Jase found himself to be the first one awake. And, feeling bad for how he'd reacted the day before, he quietly got up and shuffled to the kitchen, not bothering to dress or brush his hair before he got out a pan and started frying up a few eggs for Undertaker's breakfast. He gave a deep sigh as the bright morning light fell through the window and across his blindfolded face.

Sin. Why was he so worried about committing sins? He was not a man of the church any longer…and even when he was, it seemed god had forsaken not only him, but the human race if his angels could kill them without hesitation. And though Undertaker's moral compass was…questionable at best… The man wasn't human, and he had been around for—who knows how long. He undoubtedly knew things that Jase did not when it came to the world—mortal and supernatural. Maybe sins didn't apply to reapers, or he simply didn't care…The man likely didn't give it two thoughts when he'd placed those…wonderful, soft kisses upon his lips…

Undertaker awoke to the aroma of frying eggs. He could smell them even through his coffin, and he opened it with a creak to step out. He yawned, stretched a bit and sniffed the air, scratching his head. Was his dollie cooking breakfast? Perhaps Jase's episode the night before triggered his sense of taste, so that he could enjoy food again. The thought pleased Undertaker. He would like it if his diminutive companion could experience some of the simple joys of human senses again. He feared his inability to do so before was brought about by Undertaker's work on him, but perhaps that was changing.

The reaper glided silently into the kitchen, and he found the young man standing over the pot-bellied stove with a faraway expression on his sculpted face. Jase didn't seem to be paying attention to the food he was cooking, and Undertaker came up behind him to offer a warning.

"You're going to burn it, love."

The doll jumped and looked up at Undertaker, "I hate it when you move so quietly behind me." he said, using the spatula to check the eggs, "And they aren't burned." He bit his lip, moving to grab a plate as the eggs were almost done, "…Did you sleep well?"

"A bit roughly," admitted Undertaker. He grinned playfully at him. "I could start wearing a bell around the home, if you'd like. The eggs look nice. Feeling peckish, are we?"

"The eggs are for you…" The doll flushed as he slid the eggs onto the plate and turned to offer it to the man, "I'm sorry…for locking myself in the bathroom like that…it was childish of me."

"Far be it from me to judge who's childish," answered the reaper, touched by the gesture. He didn't particularly blame Jase for his reactions, but whatever mild irritation he inwardly harbored went away quickly. "And you've got nothing to apologize for. I scared you, and that was my fault."

Undertaker leaned in and bent over to murmur into his ear, his voice a low, seductive purr. He didn't touch him as he spoke; he just gave him a new promise, caressing him with his voice instead of his hands. "I think I'll allow you to come to me, pet. Whenever you're ready, I'll be waiting. You need only give me a sign, and I'll make you mine in every sense of the word. Thank you for breakfast."

"A man…should not lay with another man as he would a woman. It has been such since the beginning." Jase said, not completely shooting the reaper down. After all…he had felt something there…something more than how good the kiss had felt. But his priestly mind screamed at him that it was wrong…and not to mention that there were laws against such a sin, it was not only his faltering faith that told him so, it was the government. "And had someone seen us last evening…" he shivered and looked away, "…it was wrong."

Having learned the lesson of patience over the countless years of his life, Undertaker chose not to argue with him. He shrugged lightly, stepping away to accept the plate of breakfast. "You know your heart better than I, little priest. As I said: I won't force my attentions on you...but should you change your mind, I won't turn you away, either. Shinigami have no such rules against loving someone of the same gender, and I have no care for what humans think of my preferences."

It was a risky game to play with someone so deeply shamed by religious ideals, but Undertaker believed it would be worth it, should his suspicions prove correct. There were other ways to entice the senses, without being physically aggressive. Granted, he hadn't tried to seduce anyone for a long time, and he had no doubt he wasn't as charming as he used to be...not with the scars and the nails and the shaggy, overlong bangs.

He took his plate and silverware into the main room and he set it on top of the third coffin; the one they used as a coffee and dining table. He knelt before it and began to eat, listening thoughtfully to the sounds of Jase cleaning up after himself.

If he was wrong, he'd suffer some rather painful disappointment. If he was right, however, and if he could stifle his desire and give Jase just the right encouragement, he should eventually come around. The dear chap just needed time to work out his conflicting feelings and morals.

Jase silently cleaned the dishes in the water he'd heated on the stove, his mind, once again, preoccupied as his thoughts went wild once more about the reaper in the other room. His kissing another man was _wrong_. Loving him in the way he would a woman was _wrong_. Wanting to feel his soft pale hands caress over his skin, thin lips upon his…_wrong, wrong, wrong_! Grim Reapers may be fine with it. They were likely outside of sin's grasp! Creatures much like Angels and devils both—a neutral set of beings—the balance between pure sin and grace. But him? He was a being trapped between heaven and hell, fighting for the right to be graced in the afterlife. It mattered for humans… Yet…that was the thing, wasn't it? Jase _wasn't_ human. Where were Bizarre Dolls in the balance of the world? Was there even a place for him? He wasn't a creation of God, anymore…he was unnatural—born of death (In more ways than one.) And he was the only one of his kind to actually know of the world. He wasn't the same—a moving corpse. He was beyond that—a mix of Doll and human. A human mind which set him apart from the rest. And he had to remind himself that that was it. His memories and state of mind was the only thing human about him.

Would…sin be really all that bad..?

Undertaker finished his meal and he found Jase still standing over the sink in the kitchen. He'd already finished washing up, but he was clearly deep in thought. That wasn't a bad thing, as far as the reaper was concerned. He deliberately made noise as he approached this time, stepping down with his full weight to make noise with the sole of his boot and draw a creak from the wooden floor. He smiled at him when Jase turned to regard him.

"That was lovely. Hit the spot." He went to the basin and he began to clean the chipped plate off, glancing sidelong at the suddenly blushing young man. He smirked inwardly, guessing what sort of thoughts he'd interrupted this time. "I've got to leave shortly to have the remains of our guest downstairs cremated. How would you like to come with? It would do you some good to get out and feel the sun on your face. It looks to be a nice day."

Jase hesitated, "…What if I attack someone again, though?" he asked in a hushed tone, "The man yesterday wasn't innocent, I know…but today could be different! A woman or child…"

"I made a promise to you," reminded Undertaker, "and shame on me for believing you were free of the flesh cravings your cousins are prone to, but now that I know differently, I won't let my guard down."

Undertaker hesitated, wondering how much he should tell Jase of the additional conditioning he placed him under as a safety precaution. "Do you recall what happened after I pulled you off of that man, yesterday? Do you remember me commanding you to stop, and how you reacted?"

Jase shook his head, "No…I barely remember attacking him…there is only…me standing in your arms with the taste of blood on my lips…and seeing him hurt and bleeding…" he tilted his head up to look at Undertaker; that glimmer of green and gold that wasn't quite hidden behind silken silver bangs.

Undertaker sighed. "I see. Well, I should tell you now that after I altered you, I did a bit of additional editing to your cinematic records. I thought it would be a wise precaution, considering I didn't know enough about you yet to determine how dangerous you could be, or how difficult to control. I implanted a similar suggestion into the dolls before you as well, one that prevents them from turning on me—though my dollies seem to have no desire for reaper flesh."

He tilted his head and he watched Jase through his bangs. Some of the locks slipped aside to afford him a clearer view of the young man, and he decided to comb them back from his eyes entirely. "I had to be a bit more extensive with you. You're much stronger than the other dollies, and you aren't witless—that makes you potentially more dangerous. Long story short, I've affixed a leash to your soul, my dear. If I order you not to harm someone, you can't do it—though your body might scream for it. I would rather see if you can learn to control those urges yourself, but if it would make you feel more secure, I can command you not to attack or harm anyone, before we go."

A strange mix of relief and betrayal swept over the doll, and he didn't even attempt to keep it off his face, "Could you…use this 'leash' to…make me do other things..?"

"Absolutely _not_," said Undertaker with startling vehemence. "Heavens, what do you take me for, anyway? If I had any intention of forcing myself on you, I'd have broken down the bathroom door and had my way with you last night." He tried not to take that one personally because he could understand why Jase would fear such a thing. Undertaker had been accused of necrophilia, cannibalism, betrayal and even cowardice before, but he'd never been called a rapist.

He forced his indignation aside, again reminding himself that the little gent had valid reasons for his concern. He reached up to draw the drapes, and he gently reached out to tug Jase's blindfold up. He shook his bangs back again so that he could look him in the eye, "When I said I want you to come to me of your own free will, I meant that. I prefer my partners willing, Jase Dubois, and fully aware of what they are doing. It never even crossed my mind to turn you into a mindless little sex dollie."

"I—I didn't mean…I…" Jase started stuttering, "I meant could you make me attack someone as well as use it to hold me back from attacking! I…I didn't even think about—_that_."

For the second time since meeting this man, Undertaker was afflicted with a horrible case of mortification. His albino pale cheeks flooded with pink, and he quickly bowed his head to let his hair fall back down over his eyes.

_'How's that foot tasting, old chap? Good? It's becoming a staple food of yours.'_

Well, now they both knew where _his_ mind was, this morning; right in the gutter. Undertaker cleared his throat, and a sudden case of the giggles struck him. He tried to quell it, but the snickers bubbled on his lips as he spoke, making him chirp with laughter.

"Now we're even," he informed the young man, "for when you thought I called you short, yesterday. _Ah, me...ah-hah...ah-ha-ha-ha_!"

He had a good laugh at himself, even as his blush of embarrassment seemed to fascinate his companion. When he felt like he could speak again, he shook his head and offered another reassurance to Jase. "No, I didn't design you to be an attack dog, either. I wanted you to be different from the others. All of your compulsions are there as a failsafe, and nothing more."

Jase nodded, and opened his mouth to say that he didn't mind a leash that would only stop him from hurting people—after all, it had been his request that he not be aloud to do so. However, what slipped past his lips turned out to be quite different, "Tu es belle quand tu rougis. Ah!" The Frenchman gasped, realizing quickly what he'd said, and hurried to correct himself, only to find his tongue locked. Biting down on his lip he turned away, pulling down his blindfold and wishing he could disappear.

It took Undertaker a moment to translate what Jase had said in French, and he grinned hugely all over again. Ordinarily he would have vehemently denied that he was blushing, but to hear Jase tell him he looked beautiful that way made it worth the humiliation. The Frenchman's reaction to his own words was completely endearing, as well.

"Beautiful, am I?" he teased. He wanted to embrace him, but he refrained from doing so. The misunderstandings were running rampant this morning, and he didn't want to push his luck. "It seems we're both dining on our feet, today. Perhaps we should make preparations to go, before we chew our legs off, too."

He sobered a bit. "Would you like me to apply the 'leash' now, love?"

"I—I didn't say that!" he denied, rushing to gather clothes to change into and pausing on his way to the bathroom, "If it'll stop me from attacking…use the 'leash'" he added before disappearing to dress himself and brush his hair back into a ponytail.

Undertaker laughed helplessly at the doll's flustered, vehement denial. "At least _I_ can own up to my verbal tongue slips, my blushing, stubborn dollie."

When no response was forthcoming from the other side of the door, Undertaker wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes and sighed. Jase was making it difficult for him to resist making advances on him, but at his age, he should have enough self-control to do so. He gathered a change of clothes for himself, and he paused as he found something in his trunk that he'd forgotten all about. Undertaker lifted the sack out and he peeked into it.

Jase's woodcarving kit. Undertaker had found it in the trunk of his meager belongings at the church, when he returned there over a week before to gather some of the doll's personal affects. He'd held off on giving it to him, because he didn't know at the time if he would regain enough coordination to make use of it. Undertaker smiled. It seemed he had something new to cheer his dollie up with, after all. He replaced the kit back into his trunk for the time-being, making a mental note to offer it to Jase when they returned.

He waited for Jase to finish, before going into the bathroom to change and brush his hair. He smirked at the smaller man in passing, making him blush again. Chuckling with amusement, he shut the door and got ready.

When he came back out again, he beaconed his companion over to him, and he drew the ratty drapes over the window to block out the sunlight. "All right, lift up your blindfold," he instructed.

When Jase did so, Undertaker cupped his face in his hands and he shook his bangs out of his eyes again, to stare deeply into the doll's, working his will over him. "By the command of your master, you won't harm a living thing unless given leave to do so. Do you understand, pet?"

Jase's pupils reacted, growing wider as his lids hooded them and his gaze seemed to loose all focus. Lips parting, he let out a small, emotionless 'Yes, Master'.

The reaper cringed at the toneless, dead sound of his voice. He'd never been one to concern himself overly with the dignity of humans, dead or alive. He prettied up the dead for funerals, studied them for scientific purposes or turned them into animated puppets with the potential to be used as weapons, but their dignity wasn't a concern for him. He could be kind to humans when it suited his purposes, and he had nothing against the little ones, but again, he never put much thought into respecting them.

Hearing his dollie speak like that, as if he were only slightly better than his undead counterparts, was a special kind of torment for Undertaker. He didn't even like the way he'd said 'master'. It sounded revolting to him...perverse. It didn't matter to Undertaker that it was the nature of their relationship at its core; he hated hearing that word spoken so flatly, so dispassionately, by Jase. He would much rather hear that word screamed from the doll's lips in a fit of passion, or not at all.

He frowned at Jase, and he took advantage of the young man's hypnotized state to place a soft kiss on his lips. "I definitely prefer you with a mind of your own," he whispered; sighing against the soft, slack mouth.

He pulled away, and he spoke a simple command to end the hypnotic state. "Wake up now, Jase."

The doll blinked, the life flooding back into his swirled eyes. And the emotion returning to his features. Looking up at Undertaker, he waited for the fuzzy feeling in his mind to pass before speaking, "Am I safe around people now..?"

"For a time, yes," answered the reaper with a nod. "The compulsion will fade within a couple of hours. I kept it simple, so that should anything happen to prevent me from releasing you from the command, you'll be able to defend yourself. I wouldn't want to leave you helpless, after all."

Undertaker couldn't resist smoothing aside an errant lock of brown hair that had fallen over the young man's right eye, and he tugged his blindfold back down for him. "I warn you though, the compulsion won't stop the hunger. There's nothing I can do for that, unfortunately. Perhaps with time, you'll learn to control those urges yourself, and my command won't be necessary any longer."

"I hope so…" Jase nodded, lingering a moment in the reaper's arms before pulling back and tucking a lock of longer fringe behind his ear, "What are we going to be doing today?"

"First, we'll be going to an associate of mine to have those remains cremated," answered the reaper. "After that, I thought we'd pick up a few things from the market, for the road. I've decided that we should begin making our way to Germany first, seeing as I've got some contacts there. We'll stay for a while, and then if you'd like, we could pay a visit to your home country. Maybe we could even live there for a while, provided I succeed in throwing Shinigami Dispatch far enough off the scent to lose them."

"It would help your French to live there…much like living here helped my English." Jase said with a small smile. "I think I'd like to return home if possible…"

Finding that one little smile ridiculously rewarding, Undertaker remembered the surprise he had for Jase. "Then it's settled. It could take a while, but we'll get there eventually. I've got one other small gift for you."

He held up a finger to indicate that he should wait there a moment, and he went over to his trunk, next to the smaller trunk he'd purchased for Jase once he knew he was going to survive his transition. He located the sack of woodcarving tools and he lifted it out to bring it to him.

"I was going to wait," explained Undertaker, suddenly uncomfortable. "I thought we should take care of the day's business first, but seeing you smile like that made me want to give this to you a bit early."

He held out the sack for him. "I took it when I gathered your other things from the chapel grounds. I...thought you might find some use for it again, once your coordination improved."

Undertaker looked away, absently combing his bangs back down over his eyes as he struggled to understand why he had such a compulsive need to please the doll. He'd courted people he found attractive before, but it was all just a game to him...something he did to entertain himself or to seduce. This wasn't just seduction, though. It gave him genuine pleasure just to see Jase's features light up, and he longed to make it happen more often.

Jase's face did light up brighter when he spotted the tools. It had been so long since he'd used them, he had forgotten he had them still tucked away in the bottom of his footlocker. He hadn't touched them since before he joined the priesthood. He had saved up for them over two years when he'd still lived with his father, carving having been a means of escape. He could get lost in his own world while carving small wooden objects, but the priesthood had left him with little time to do so.

He reached out and gingerly took them in his hands, opening their leather case and running his fingers over the tools, "I thought I'd lost these…my personal effects would have been donated once they discovered my disappearance and determined I wouldn't be back…" He raised his gaze back up, "Thank you."

Undertaker grinned brightly, enjoying the giddy satisfaction of the moment. "You're quite welcome, love. Seems we'll need to collect some proper carving wood for you, while we're out. I'm curious to see what lovely creations you come up with."

He checked his pocket watch and he blew a low whistle. "We're running a bit late. I'd best collect our cargo and hail a carriage." With that said, he hurried to the basement stairs, resisting the temptation to do a little jig of joy.


	6. Into Town

**Just a Doll **

**Chapter 6**

After the two made it to the area in London that they—or rather, Undertaker needed, Jase followed closely behind or next to the reaper. Fearing that even with his 'leash' he'd need his reaper friend to hold him back at any moment. And indeed, a few times, he seemed to black out when particular people passed by too closely to him, and he'd come to again, still in that same spot, and his mouth watering in want. He was relieved he'd come to his senses again with that, rather than the taste of blood on his lips. Though it did cause him to get quite thirsty, and they hadn't even gotten to the place to get the bones cremated.

After coming to again after a tall man with black hair brushed past him, Jase jogged to catch up to Undertaker, reaching out to touch his elbow, "I'm going to need something to drink soon…"

Undertaker turned and stopped, cursing inwardly. He hadn't even _considered_ Jase's thirst issues. He shifted the bag hefted over his shoulder with its tightly wrapped contents, and he looked around. There was no well nearby to draw from, nor were there any places of business that might offer anything to drink—except for the little pub on the corner of the block up ahead.

"Right," muttered the reaper. He put one arm around the doll's waist to guide him, sensing his quiet distress. "Come along then, my dear. We'll find a nice spot in the corner and order a pint for me and a mug of water for you."

"I'm sorry…I didn't think to see if there was anything to bring water along with me…I'm still not used to it." The Doll apologized as he was guided to the pub.

"Think nothing of it," assured the reaper. "A quick stop for a drink won't put a crimp in our schedule. We'll stop in again when we've finished, and we'll take a carriage direct to the market place after that."

He waited for a young couple to pass through the doors first, before guiding Jase inside. Some people gave the doll a cursory look of interest upon seeing him blindfolded, but they assumed he was visually impaired and went back to their drinks or conversation. Undertaker got more stares than the young man, and the reaper knew they'd have to depart London for certain, after this. He was usually careful not to do much shopping out in the open, and he avoided frequenting heavily populated places, where people liked to gossip. Word was bound to get back to the Dispatch department that there was a tall gentleman matching Undertaker's description seen in local businesses.

Undertaker found a shadowed table in the corner of the den, away from the most active areas. Fortunately, it wasn't a busy hour of the day for pubs, so they could probably have their drinks and be gone without Jase having close contact with anyone. Undertaker guided his companion to the table and he pulled a chair out for him.

"Have a seat and wait here, love," he advised in a low murmur. "I'll belly up to the bar and order us a drink." He set his bag down and scooted it under the table. "Keep an eye out on that too. The last thing we need is for someone to nab it."

Undertaker grinned at the thought of a thief snatching the sack and finding it full of wrapped up bones. The expression on their face would surely be amusing, but it might draw more attention to him than the reaper cared to get.

He left his doll and went to the bar to order, removing his top hat cordially and giving a polite nod and a smile to the bartender. "Morning, gent. I'd like a pint of ale for me, and a tall glass of water for my companion over there. There's a good tip in it for you if you make sure it's served in a clean glass."

The bartender—a rather unkempt looking man with a messy beard and a bulbous nose—looked around at the shabby interior, then up at Undertaker with an ironic twist of his lips. "Wha' kind o' place you think this is? I ain't runnin' some snoo-ey establishment in the—"

Undertaker reached out, grabbed the man's wrist and broadened his grin, letting the chill of the grave flow from him into the human, until his eyes widened and he gasped in pain. "I gave you a simple request," he said, his voice changing from the droll tone of an old codger to the deep, smooth voice of the reaper. "It's not that hard to wipe down a glass before filling it, is it?"

"N-no sir," replied the bartender, catching a glimpse of the neon flash of the reaper's inhuman gaze. "Right away, s-sir."

Jase sat silently in his seat, his foot on the bag under the table. He thought it was safe to assume that people thought he was likely blind, and if he was touching the bag, thieves would be less likely to try to steal it. However, if they did try, he of course could see them and take them by surprise. Normally, he thought the best of people, gave them the benefit of the doubt. But this whole pub felt shady. He could feel that many of the patrons were untrustworthy for one reason or another.

Undertaker's demeanor changed abruptly from menacing to mild, once the drinks were set before him and he was satisfied with the quality. He counted out some coin and true to his word; he tipped the bartender handsomely. "Ta."

He picked up the drinks, and he covertly chilled Jase's glass with his reaper abilities, until it was rimmed with frost and had a thin layer of ice on the top of the liquid inside. He found his dollie sitting where he'd left him, and he took a seat across from him after setting his water down for him.

"There you are, nice and cool." Undertaker held up his pint with a smile. "Cheers."

Taking the glass, Jase thanked him and brought it to his lips, greedily quenching his thirst. He downed half of it before he lowered the glass once more, feeling much better than he had. The doll looked across the table at Undertaker as the man sipped his own drink, eyes hidden behind his hair, making it hard to tell where he was looking. Though, in a way, Jase was much the same with his blindfold. He'd kept it on, even though the pub was dim enough not to hurt his eyes.

"Is Undertaker your real name?" he asked curiously, "It seems a strange name to be given…"

The reaper smirked. "Nobody gave it to me, darling doll...I took it for myself. When the life of a Grim Reaper had nothing left to offer me, I created a new identity for myself. I haven't looked back."

He grimaced in spite of himself. That part was a lie. Sometimes he _did_ look back, much as he wished he could banish some of the painful memories. He had his fun times with Dispatch, certainly, but when he began to question whether there was something more to life than reaping, things began to go wrong. Undertaker sipped his ale again, and he spread the fingers of his free hand to look down at the long, black nails crowning them.

"They didn't give me a name when they made me," he whispered, "not the way you humans get named, anyhow. I was simply 'Death'. When the divine began to create more of my kind, the Shinigami association was born and names were assigned to make a distinction between us all, but old Undertaker was just...Death."

"Are your kind not born in the way humans are? Having parents? Family?" Jase blinked in surprise. If reapers were 'created' rather than 'born', perhaps his own existence was more natural than he thought…

"I was amongst the first," answered the reaper, "and that's why my nails have blackened with age." He twiddled his fingers meaningfully and he downed the rest of his ale.

"Most of the youngest generation of reapers were either born of Shinigami parents, or ascended from human souls deemed worthy by the powers that be. Reapers can reproduce with each other like humans, but at a vastly slower rate of success. Not the most fruitful lot, and only the best are selected to become officers of the Dispatch division."

He looked at his empty mug and continued to explain. "When a human is reaped, the agent on the scene jots down a special note if he believes the soul meets the criteria for ascension. If that soul is judged as fit to be reborn as a reaper, the records are filed away in a specific, classified section of the Great Library, to be reborn later as a new reaper, if there is a great enough need to replace agents who've either fallen on the job or retired, like myself."

Undertaker grinned sharply, his melancholy expression fading into one of wild, ironic humor. "If they ever found out I shared these secrets with you, they'd do a lot more than try to take my scythe or incarcerate me."

He waved at the bartender and tapped his mug with a long nail meaningfully, and he gestured at Jase's nearly empty glass of water, too. Already intimidated, the bartender quickly poured fresh drinks for them and brought them over.

"Merci, monsieur." Jase said as a fresh glass of water was placed upon the table before him. The bar tender gave him a questioning look, as if shocked that a blindfolded—and potentially blind—little Frenchman would know that he received a fresh glass of water before it was even set upon the table when Undertaker hadn't actually said anything to indicate it in the noisy pub. But, as Jase had spoken in French, he assumed Jase did not speak English and said nothing as he hurried away again.

The doll turned his attentions back to Undertaker again, "Then had you ever taken a wife and tried for a child? Was it successful?"

Undertaker shook his head and took a drink of his fresh ale. "I had no interest in a wife, or children. Much as I like the little nippers, I don't think I would make a good father. My past relationships have been brief, either due to a lack of connection, or the shortness of mortal life."

"Do you miss any of them?" Jase questioned further, not knowing why he was so interested.

Undertaker thought about the question, and he recalled a couple of lovers whom he still thought of, now and then. "Some of them, certainly. One was a reaper I instructed, when he was a fledgling. He was the one that convinced me it was all right to laugh. We drifted apart, once he graduated to Dispatch. There was also a lady...mortal."

He began to grin with the memory of how vocal she could be. "She was a screamer, that one." Remembering that he was in the presence of a virgin, Undertaker cleared his throat. "Anyhow, I was fond enough of some of them, but I have never fallen prey to that all-consuming love I see so many humans suffer from."

'_Not yet,_', he amended silently, admiring the way the cold sunlight shown on his companion's face through the window.

"We do not live in a world where most people get to marry for love, though." Jase pointed out, "The rich wed for social standing, though the poor are starting to let love in. Fewer men are selling their daughters to the highest bidder. It is such a shame when it happens…I find no reason to enter such a commitment with anyone where love is not present."

"That's true," mused Undertaker, "and I agree; it seems a waste to declare yourself a lifelong partner with someone if there's no love there. Some folk barely even _tolerate_ the people they marry. Personally, I'd rather be alone than attached to someone I don't even like to be in the same room with. And they say _I'm_ mad."

"You're in no rush, though. You have all the time in the world…for humans maybe it isn't madness. I chose a life of celibacy when I lost my chance at love, some marry who they can…maybe for some it's better than loneliness."

Undertaker shrugged. "I suppose, when you put it that way. Mayhap I take my longevity for granted. I don't suppose I'll ever be able to completely understand what motivates humans, anymore than they can understand what motivates me and my kind."

Undertaker grinned at him, and he propped his elbows on the table, flipped his long sleeves back and threaded his long fingers together to prop his chin on them. "Maybe you're the link. You could provide me a better understanding of mortals, and now you don't have the threat of aging to death stopping you from learning everything you could ever want to learn."

He shrugged again and straightened up, reaching for his pint. "But I don't want to give you a false sense of security. You can still be chopped up, burned or shot through the head like any mortal, I'll wager. Odds are you're more resilient to damage that would kill an ordinary man, though, and I'll certainly ruin someone's day if they try to harm you."

A barmaid came by and Undertaker went silent, sipping his ale.

Jase waited for her to pass on before continuing their conversation, "I have no intention to do anything that would lead me to being harmed in such a way. And self defense is different from attacking someone violently."

"Of course it is," agreed the reaper with a grin, "and that's why your compulsion is only temporary, my dear. Some folk don't share your gentle nature, I'm afraid."

He checked his pocket watch and clucked his tongue. "Speaking of which, I should probably re-apply the command, soon. We've also got to get going, if we're to get to the crematory before my associate leaves for the day. Let's finish our drinks and visit the men's room, before we go."

Jase nodded, finishing up his second glass of water and waiting for Undertaker to finish his own drink before standing and handing the man his sack, trying not to think of what lay inside.

Undertaker found it no more pleasant the second time than the first, to employ the command that triggered Jase's compulsion. When he brought the doll back out of his trance, Jase must have noticed the sour look on his face, but Undertaker waved it off and excused it on the filthy state of the men's room. They left the pub and walked the rest of the way to the crematorium.

"Well, look who we have here," said the old man in the shack out the front, when Undertaker ducked inside. "Haven't seen you for a while, Undertaker." He was seated in an old rocking chair that creaked with his motions, and he had a book in his hand and a pair of reading glasses on.

The reaper smiled in greeting, tipping his hat to the man. "'Morning, Lester. I've got a job for you today, if it isn't too late."

The thin old man wiped his balding head and got out of his rocking chair to approach. He offered a hand to Undertaker, who shook it. "You caught me in time. Though you could always have let my assistant take care of the matter for you, when he arrives."

"Nobody cremates like you, old chap," said the reaper.

Lester took off his reading glasses and folded them, leaving them to dangle from the chain around his neck. He peered curiously at Jase and he nodded at him. "And who's this young fellow? Can't say I've ever seen him with you before."

"This is my new assistant, Mr. Dubois. Jase, meet Lester Crowley. We've been collaborating for years, he and I."

"Pleasure, lad," said the crematorium operator. He frowned a little at Undertaker and muttered under his breath. "Blind, is he? I've never known you to take an assistant before, but one that can't see?"

Undertaker chortled softly. "He's not blind; he simply has an optical condition that makes his eyes highly sensitive to light. He gets around just fine."

"Ah, I see." The old man nodded in understanding. "Well, what have you got for me today? We'd best get right on it."

Undertaker dropped the sack to the floor and opened it for Lester's inspection. "Clean as a whistle," he demonstrated.

"Indeed," answered the old man. "What shall I do with the ashes, then?"

Undertaker shrugged. "Spread them in your garden for fertilizer. There were no instructions beyond cremation." He took out his coin purse and counted out some money for the old man. "This will likely be the last time I call on you, friend. In fact, it may well be the last time we see one another. It's been a pleasure working with you."

"Oh?" said Lester curiously. "Are you moving your business, then?"

"Actually, I'm taking a hiatus," answered the reaper, "and I don't know when I'll return. I think I'll get out and see the world, a bit."

Lester frowned, his gaze flicking to the attractive, blindfolded young man behind Undertaker. "Why get an assistant, if you're taking a holiday from the trade?"

Undertaker fell prey to his mischievous inner demon, and he grinned broadly. He put an arm around Jase and hugged him close without warning, and he leaned over the little old cremator and whispered to him.

"All right, you've got me. He's actually my companion, if you know what I mean." He gave Jase a squeeze and he nudged Lester, inadvertently making him stumble a bit.

Jase gasped, caught off-guard by the sudden embrace, "I-I am no such thing! Honnêtement, vous agissez comme un tel pervers, vous chose pécheresse!" he accused with reddened cheeks.

Just as scandalized as the young man, Lester ogled the black-clad reaper. "I've no idea what the lad just said, but I agree with his tone!"

Undertaker laughed heartily. "He just accused me of acting like a pervert." He released his small companion and patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't get yourselves nosebleeds, I was kidding."

Still snickering helplessly over their reactions, Undertaker put his coin purse away and bowed cordially to the old man. "My thanks for your services, friend. My blushing assistant and I should be on our way, now. Come along, Mr. Dubois. We still have things to do."

Lester shook his head at the reaper. "You always did have an odd sense of humor. Safe travels, Undertaker."

Jase nodded and bid the man a good day before turning and hurrying after his master out of the shop and into the streets, "You're horrible sometimes." He said, looking up at him through the protective lace of his blindfold, "Jokes like that could get Scotland Yard after the both of us!"

Undertaker stopped in his tracks. "Scotland Y—oh, come now!" He chuckled with amusement. "Victorian society may frown upon it, but the Yard has more important things to do than throw people in jail for being tosspots."

He grinned down at him and winked, though the young man likely couldn't see it through the fringe of his bangs and the shadow of his hat's brim. "You know I can't get through the day without a laugh, my dear. Admit it; I'm fun."

"You're…frustrating." He said, not wanting to admit that the reaper was fun—sometimes. If he admitted it now, it'd only encourage the man to do the same more often.

Undertaker feigned a sigh of disappointment, and he gave Jase a gentle prod in the ribs with his nails that made him squeak. "I suppose frustrating is better than dull."

They reached the main street, and Undertaker hailed a carriage to take them into the market square. "We'll stop into a cleaner pub for another quick drink when we get there," he promised his companion after giving the driver instructions. "Don't pout at me, that way. It makes me want to pinch your cheeks. I'll purchase the finest crafting materials for your wood carving, to make up for my teasing."

"Y-you don't have to…I can use what I find in the wood like I always have. Besides, That purse will not stay full…and I have no money to contribute to our leaving London…"

Undertaker climbed in behind him, shut the door and drew the curtains for shade.

"We aren't likely to find any suitable crafting wood for you until we're well away from the city," insisted the reaper. "I know of a crafting shop in the market that sells blocks of it. It's where I purchase my apothecary boxes. That will at least give you something to start on, at least."

Undertaker watched him covertly beneath the mask of his hair curious and amused by his humble nature and his desire to contribute. "As for money, you needn't worry about that. Your contribution is in your cooperation, Jase. Each day, I'm learning a little bit more about how you work. That's enough for me."

He kept it to himself that he was confident that he might be able to duplicate the process he'd used to immortalize this young man, though Jase would always be a unique case, due to the circumstances surrounding his transition. Undertaker was still quite eager to see what sort of untapped potential his humble little dollie had hidden beneath that slight, sweet frame. He smiled at the thought. His thirst for knowledge was nearly as strong as his growing fondness and attraction to the former priest.

"But I want to be more than just your experiment and research!" Jase insisted, "I can assist in other ways—I can sell carvings at least…"

Seeing how passionately he felt about it, Undertaker gave him a gentle smile. "You know you're more than that to me, even if I natter on about discovering all the secrets of life and death. I used to trade in laughter, not money. That's how much a smile or a laugh means to me, Jase. Boredom is my enemy, and whether you mean to or not, you always manage to keep me entertained. It's also nice to have someone to talk to that will talk back—and _intelligently_, I might add. You don't just blurt any nonsense that comes to mind; you provide stimulating conversation."

Undertaker reached out to lay a hand over Jase's knee and give it a little squeeze. "That's worth more to me than the coin of the realm, lovely, but if you want to start trying to turn a profit with your craft once we've gotten settled elsewhere, who am I to stop you? Put your talents to whatever good use you choose."

Feeling the urge to kiss him, Undertaker withdrew his hand and sat back again.

_'Not too friendly, now. Teasing is all well and good, but no more romantic kisses until he asks for it.'_

Following the dictates of his logical mind was getting difficult for a compulsive reaper like him, though.

The Doll adverted his gaze behind his blindfold, "You tell me I'm more than just another one of your Dolls…but I don't understand how."

Undertaker's brows went up. "I just explained it to you, my dear. If you were just another dollie, we wouldn't be heading to the market together right now, and we surely wouldn't be having this conversation."

Feeling a bit like he kept miring himself deeper and unable to understand why, the reaper crossed one leg over the other, and he propped an elbow on the topside knee to rest his chin on his fist in a thinking pose. "What proof do you need, Jase? What else do you want from me? I'm used to carrying on conversations with the dead, not the living. I don't know what else to do to show you how I..."

He trailed off with a frown, shaking his head. He didn't even know how to describe how he felt about him, and it had only been a day since he scared the chap with his kiss. If he weren't so certain it would cause another panic incident, he would have probably told his brain to kindly take a flying leap, and he would have grabbed the doll to show him with another kiss.

Undertaker sighed, and he parted the curtain a bit to peek out the window at the passing streets. He really wasn't good at being somber. "I can't make you see yourself the way I see you."

"You just...confuse me. I'm your Doll…and your friend, but you are socially awkward, to be honest, and seem to be learning what friendship is…yet you kissed me, and said you want to make me yours, yet I'm not sure you really feel love—sin aside—and though you have cared for a few individuals, you never found them worthy of being a 'life mate' as you put it… I just…want to understand where it is you stand."

Undertaker stared at him, not denying that he was socially awkward. Ages of isolation tended to do that to a person. "Where I stand?" He tilted his head to the side and smiled. "What a peculiar way to put it, Jase. Is this a question of whether I can love you, if you come into my arms?"

Once again, Jase's cheeks flushed, "N-not necessarily!" he denied, though some tiny voice in the back of his mind questioned his words.

"No?" Undertaker sighed. "Pity. I had an answer prepared and everything. I guess you'll never know."

The carriage came to a stop, and the driver hopped down and opened the door for them. "Here we are, sirs," he announced, tipping his felt derby hat. "Thank you for your patronage."

Undertaker looked out the door, and he gestured invitingly at his blindfolded companion. "After you."

Jase lingered in his seat a moment, looking at Undertaker before getting up and stepped down out of the hansom and waited for the reaper to join him and pay the driver. Once they were left alone once more, he mumbled, "I'm just so confused…everything I know, everything I learn…contradicts everything else…I'm not sure what to think or feel…" he admitted in a low voice before turning in the direction Undertaker had gestured that they would be going and starting to walk.

Because he could—in a way—identify with Jase's issue, the reaper felt sympathy for him. He tried to comfort him, speaking in a low, dulcet voice he rarely used in public, as a rule. The guise of the eccentric, half-baked mortician had served him well over the years, and sometimes he startled himself when he used his _real_ voice.

"I haven't been very kind to you on that front, have I? Teasing you, pushing your buttons...like I said before, it's going to take some practice for me to learn how to be a decent friend. I've had some experience myself with being disillusioned, as you know, and I can tell you one thing for sure; you're the only one that can determine who you are and how you feel in the end."

The reaper had to move closer to the doll to avoid bumping into a woman passing by, and he unconsciously put himself between her and Jase to try and prevent the flesh hunger from being triggered by her nearness. When Jase's expression showed no signs of going blank as it had when he attacked the man in the house, the ancient reaper relaxed a bit. He hand to bend over quite a bit to murmur into Jase's ear, but it was worth it when the young man shivered a bit in response.

"You've only been living this life for a week, love. Give yourself time. It could take months, or even years, but you'll eventually find a new calling. In the meantime, try not to over think everything. It only makes it worse—trust me. Your craft should offer some much-needed distraction for you, I think."

Undertaker almost added that should Jase desire it, he was more than happy to provide further distraction for him. He remembered his oath and he fought his impulses with a grimace.

Jase sighed, mostly for a distraction from how close the other was to him, "Does…God even care about humans sinning..?" Should he care if God cared at all for anything? He was so torn between his faith he held so dear as a human—and moving on.

"Probably not half as much as the clergy would have you believe," theorized Undertaker. He spotted the craft shop he was after across the street, and he guided Jase to the corner. When the traffic was clear, they crossed.

"I've never met the almighty, myself," said the reaper. "If you ask me, I'd say it's too busy creating things to care about every little thing we do on these planes. Humans spend so much time shaming themselves and each other, I doubt God needs to bother shaking a finger at them. Here we are, love."

He opened the shop door and the cheerful tinkle of the bell greeted them as he ushered Jase inside.

The Doll nodded, letting himself think over things as he was ushered into the shop that smelled strongly of freshly cut wood. He slowed to a stop, closing his eyes and breathing in that scent that he loved, a small smile crossing his lips.

Undertaker took a moment to appreciate that little smile, and he wished he'd thought to bring Jase here earlier. He bent over to murmur in his ear as he mentally reviewed what he needed to pick up, himself.

"Why don't you have a look around and pick out a few things, while I have a chat with my box-maker up the stairs?" He gestured at the little spiral staircase leading up to the second floor, where a ruckus of crafting could be heard.

The Doll gave a small nod and opened his eyes again, "I wont be getting much…just something to get me started as we travel."

"Fair enough." Undertaker left him to it, and he climbed the steps to the second floor. He selected a few wooden boxes for himself, and then he met up with his companion on the first floor again.

"Is that all?" he said with a nod at the two blocks of carving wood in his dollie's hands. When Jase shrugged, he gave up trying to convince him to take more and he went to the register with him to check out.

The clerk wrapped it all up for them and they left. Undertaker had plans to hit the pub for a drink next, and then make for the harbor to purchase tickets for the next ship across the English channel. Unfortunately, the moment they stepped outside the shop, he was forced to make a quick revision of his plans.

Undertaker grabbed Jase without ceremony and he dragged him into the alley between the crafting shop and the flower shop next to it. He put his hand over the young man's mouth to stifle his exclamation of surprise, and he cloaked the both of them from mortal view.

"One of the priests from your former chapel," explained the reaper in a whisper to his companion, nodding at the Irishman crossing the street. "They think you're dead now. It wouldn't do for one of them to spot and recognize you."

This was one of the things he'd been afraid of, when he decided to take Jase out with him. He needed to conduct the cremation and travel business during daylight hours though, unfortunately. He watched as Father O'Reilly ran a hand over his balding scalp and discussed something with a merchant operating a bread stall, across the street.

Jase closed his mouth and peeked around the corner at his stout Irish brother. "…It would be Father O'Reilly, wouldn't it…" he mumbled, looking at the usually cheerful, gentle, but strongly opinionated man. They had been good friends. The Irishman had been the first to welcome him to England, right off the ship, and they had often worked together.

"We can't chance him seeing you," muttered the reaper. "Even if his heart could take the shock, I can easily imagine the uproar it would cause. Your former church might worship a man who came back from the dead, but I doubt their reaction to seeing _you_ do it will be a pretty thing. Come, Jase. We'll go out the other side of the alley and take another carriage right to the harbor."

Jase nodded, "…Death is cruel…not letting people say goodbye to their friends before they pass…" he sighed, lingering a second longer to bid the man a silent goodbye before turning to follow the reaper.

The comment made Undertaker think. He'd taken the souls of children while their grieving parents wailed over their lifeless bodies. He'd reaped sons and daughters, wives and mothers, husbands and fathers...but he never really considered the agony of those left behind. His concern had always been for the dead and dying, not the living. Those he came for never suffered, when he reaped them. Even when they were in agony before he arrived, they died in peace. It took centuries for Undertaker to perfect his art to the point where mortals greeted him as an old friend, rather than an enemy, when their time came.

But the living lingered on in pain, and neither Jase nor his Irish friend could say their final goodbyes, even though the doll wasn't actually dead. It _did_ seem cruel, and if he weren't so certain that it would only scare the man to death, Undertaker might have been tempted to arrange a "visit from the afterlife" between Jase and Father O'Reilly, to give them both closure.

The last thing he needed to do was kill his dollie's friend by accident, though.

"We'll send him a care package," he decided aloud, speaking softly to his companion. "Something you think he would like. We can send it to the Church anonymously, once we've settled into our next destination. That can be your goodbye to him."

"Thank you…" he glanced over his shoulder once more to look back before they turned the corner and headed off to the docks.

Undertaker got them a small cabin aboard the next ship scheduled to the Netherlands, and they made one more stop off at a bottle shop. He purchased a drinking flask for himself and a canteen for Jase, to ensure the doll could always carry water with him to sip on as needed. He just bought the flask for himself because he thought the silver inlaid skulls on it were pretty.

They returned to the house and spent the rest of the evening packing things into crates stacked in the basement. Undertaker took a small break for dinner, and then he resumed his careful packing. He wanted to avoid staying in cities for very long, if possible. Not only would it decrease the chances of being spotted and tattled on to nosey Dispatch authorities out looking for him, but living in the country would give his dollie the chance to go outside and enjoy the sun, without worrying about running into anyone and trying to devour them by accident.

"We'll go to Amsterdam first," he explained to his companion as he filled the last crate with apothecary jars and bottles. He grunted as he shut the lid and began to hammer nails into it to seal it shut. "From there, we can take the train to Düsseldorf. I'll contact my associates there and we'll find a place in the countryside to stay for a few weeks, while I do some work for them. That ought to fill the coffers back up again, and you could sell your woodcarvings in the market there, if you like. I hear there's a nice demand for that sort of thing in Germany, right now."

He finished up and he looked around the basement, checking one last time to be sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He gave a nod and he smiled at Jase. "If all goes according to schedule, we'll have our own horses and carriage to take our own route to your home country. I estimate we ought to be in France by the end of spring, at the latest."

Jase nodded as he sat in front of his chest. He'd taken everything out so that he could pack it in a better organized fashion. He folded his clothes neatly and made sure he collected his few belongings left around the small hut as he packed, leaving his blocks of carving wood and tools on top. True, he's only gotten two blocks of wood, but one was a fairly large piece and it would take him a while to carve what he had planned for it, wanting to keep that one to himself. "We should avoid my hometown of Cahors, though…many people know me there, and if the church knows I'm dead, then they would have sent word back there."

"A wise idea," agreed Undertaker with a nod. "Have you thought of what you'd like to send the Irishman?"

"A carving…once I finish it." Jase nodded, I'll start it on the ship."

"I see." Undertaker smiled. "I'm curious to see what you come up with, love."

He stretched and yawned, arching his back leisurely in a graceful manner. "Well, I think I'm for the bath and the coffin. We've got quite a day ahead of us, so I wouldn't advise staying up too late."

He reached down and patted the doll on the shoulder—the only show of affection he would allow himself, at the moment. "Goodnight, Jase."

"Goodnight, Undertaker." He said, glancing up at him, "I shouldn't be too much longer." He said, slipping the last of his things in the chest and closing it.


	7. A Cuddler

**Just a Doll **

**Chapter 7**

_We set off from London the next morning, and we arrived in Amsterdam late that night. I purchased some new laboratory supplies that I'd been forced to leave behind at my old shop. I had to apply Jase's compulsion several times during our journey, and I could tell when the flesh lust made him "black out", because he would stop in his tracks and his face would go blank of expression. I actually had to scoop him up and carry him in my arms at one point, when we were in the busiest part of the city. There were too many people around, and the poor dear has no control yet over his instinctive urges. He would have just stood there like a wooden...well...doll...if I hadn't stopped and picked him up._

_We stayed in Amsterdam for the weekend, with only our clothing trunks. I arranged for the rest of my things to be transported to the address in Düsseldorf where we will be staying for a while. I spent a bit extra on the train ticket, to ensure that my dollie and I got a private booth. Any time spent in the close presence of mortals tends to drain him, as well as heat his body up. I hope the privacy of the booth will be enough, but I could feel the heat radiating from him as we boarded earlier, and I suspect I may have to resort to creative measures to cool him down again._

_This may be a long train ride._

* * *

As Undertaker sat writing in his journal again, Jase sat cross-legged on his bed, a rag spread out over his blanket to catch the wood shavings that fell as he carved into the smaller block of wood. It's shape and form slowly starting to take on a recognizable image. He bent over, sticking his tongue out into the corner of his mouth as he worked carefully, concentrating on his art.

Undertaker looked over at his companion on the other bunk, and he grinned at the sight of him. Jase didn't even seem to be aware that he was poking his tongue out that way. Again, the doll managed to look endearing without even trying. They had the shade drawn on the window so that he could work without his blindfold, and Undertaker could see well enough to write without requiring additional light. Shinigami eyes had notoriously poor sight when it came to seeing things from a distance, but their night vision was better than the average human being's.

The reaper watched his companion for a while, taking note of the way he brushed his thumbs over parts after carving them to sweep away any flakes. He handled the carving knife like it was second nature to him, and the wood was taking shape beneath his skilled hands as if by magic.

Undertaker's traitorous mind immediately went down avenues he'd been trying to avoid, and he wondered what those hot little hands would feel like on his body, if Jase ever took him up on his offer. Sleeping in the room that they shared at the Amsterdam Inn they had stayed at was a special kind of torture. For one, Undertaker wasn't used to beds, and he'd sent his coffins off with the rest of his things to their future residency in Düsseldorf. Additionally, the only room available to them had a queen-sized bed. Out of courtesy for Jase's fear of intimacy, Undertaker offered to sleep in the sofa during their stay, but Jase insisted that they could share the bed.

The ancient reaper had never suffered so much difficulty in keeping his hands to himself. He spent both nights in Amsterdam fighting the compulsion to put his arms around his dollie and hold him close. Regardless of his inability to find a true commitment in his long life, Undertaker was a cuddler. It never failed, when he shared a bed with someone. He was amazed he'd managed to avoid snatching Jase to him in his sleep, but perhaps his decision to designate one of his pillows as the "hugging pillow" was to thank for that.

In addition to the urge to cuddle, he also had the desire to kiss and touch him to contend with. The entire weekend was really quite a miserable test to the reaper's willpower. He was happy to leave Amsterdam and be on their way. At least on the train they had their own separate, narrow bunks to sleep in, so he wasn't likely to reach out and try to grab Jase for a cuddle. If he did, he'd probably just end up rolling onto the floor.

Undertaker snorted with amusement at the thought.

"Hmm?" The sudden noise from the reaper caught the Doll's attention and he glanced up at him, "What were you thinking about that would be so amusing?" He didn't know if he wanted to know, but the question left his lips regardless.

"Just thinking of snuggles," answered the reaper with a broad grin and a wink that the doll probably couldn't even see beneath the bangs covering his eyes. Lying propped on his elbows on his stomach, Undertaker kicked his booted feet absently. He nodded at the block of wood in Jase's hand—which the doll seemed to have suddenly forgotten. "It's looking interesting, love. What is it going to be?"

"Snuggles?" Jase looked back down, "Oh, A mother cat and her kittens." He turned it around in his hand and held it up, "Father O'Reilly always had a soft spot for kittens."

Now that the young man held it up at the right angle, Undertaker could see. He sat up and he got out of his bunk to have a closer look, leaning over. "Oh yes, I see now! Quite lovely, my dear."

He chose not to elaborate on the bit about cuddles. The tracks curved and the reaper steadied himself easily as he checked the time. "Hmm, I might see about visiting the dining car for some lunch. I'll bring back a bottle of water for you to refill your canteen."

"I'll come with you…my legs could use the stretch. I haven't left our cabin since we boarded." He said, setting aside his project and stood up, fixing his sleeves as he had rolled them up while working to prevent them from tearing should he slip with a tool. Normally he wouldn't worry, but working on a moving train did make things unpredictable. He pulled on his blindfold and stood up, stretching a little.

Undertaker grabbed his hat, stuffed it on his head and opened the door. "After you," he invited.

He stepped out behind Jase, and he gestured at the narrow space behind himself. "The dining car is back this way, I believe," he explained.

An old man approached, and Undertaker flattened himself back against the door of their cabin to make room for him. He kept an eye on his companion, now that he was aware of the blackout problems he suffered in the close company of humans. Sure enough, the doll's mouth went slack as the human brushed past him, and Undertaker impulsively took hold of his arm to steady him just in case.

After the man passed far enough away, Jase snapped too again, unaware that anything had happened, until he realized his thirst had grown and Undertaker was suddenly touching him. He said nothing, as he normally did once snapping to himself again, and moved in the direction of the dinning car. He wasn't unaware of the condition of his new impulses. He'd found out himself without Undertaker's help that he only was affected by those guilty of great, and likely, unforgivable sins. Children, women, good men…they were safe. But it did startle him how many people did make him hunger.

Undertaker's reaper precognition picked up on the same things that likely triggered Jase's blackout, and he didn't think the man's deeds bore repeating to the sensitive little Frenchman. Satisfied that Jase had regained self-awareness, he cast a glance at the old man before moving up behind his companion.

"He'll be buried within the week," he informed the doll in a mutter—referring to the man they'd encountered. "He won't get the chance to harm anyone else."

Not that he gave a damn one way or the other whether the old fart poisoned another living creature again or not, but he knew that if Jase would if he could sense the same thing from him.

"You can tell when people are getting closer to death?" Jase asked, not at all surprised, "Can…you prevent it?" he added, a little more curious as they entered the next car.

Undertaker kept his voice pitched low, to avoid people overhearing. "It depends. I prevented your death by erasing it from your record, but had you been too far-gone, that mightn't have worked. That fellow back there is on his way out because he has a bum ticker. I couldn't fix that if I wanted to.

He had to move aside again to allow a young woman and her beau to pass, but he was as slim as he was tall, so it caused no difficulty for him. Thankfully, neither of them carried the black residue of deepest sin on their auras. Once they had passed, Undertaker looked around at the interior of the dining car, and he found an empty booth to dine in.

"This way, love," he said to his companion, guiding him over to it. He could sense a particularly unsavory aura coming from a woman near the exit to the next car up ahead, and he shot a grimace her way and made it a point not to sit down anywhere near her.

He sat down across from Jase and he picked up the menu in the wire rack pinned to the wall. He barely had a chance to look it over before a waiter came over, smiling widely in greeting beneath his curled mustache.

"Bonjour, monsieurs!" he greeted with a little bow. "I will be your faithful servant during your dining experience, this evening! Have you seen the wine list?"

Undertaker smirked at the accent the man was putting on, and he glanced over at his companion. He could see by the little twist to Jase's lips that he found the fake French accent more disturbing than funny.

Clearing his throat, the reaper sought out the item that seemed most appetizing to him. "I'll have the lamb cutlets and peas, thank you. A glass of chardonnay will be fine."

The man wrote it down. "Oui, oui, monsieur. And your companion?" With his fake smile plastered on his face to go with his fake accent, he looked at Jase. His gaze flicked over the young man with curiosity, and Undertaker could see the question in his eyes concerning the blindfold.

Rather than answer for the doll, Undertaker watched to see how he would handle it. He hid a grin behind his fingers and he pretended to take great interest in his emerald ring.

Jase looked up at the man through his blindfold, his expression lacking amusement, "Je vais prendre un grand verre d'eau avec un côté de respect pour les citoyens de mon pays d'origine, monsieur. Je vous remercie de laisser tomber les moqueries de mon accent et bâton à la vôtre, car je suis sûr qu'il est merveilleux dans son propre droit. Est-ce que votre horrible attentat à feindre une Frencham vous apporter quelque chose utile de votre temps à essayer de se rappeler de prendre la parole dans une telle façon? Oh, and please do remember the ice, monsieur."

Undertaker did his best to hold back his laughter as he mentally translated what his uncommonly irate dollie said to the waiter, to the best of his ability. His French could still use some refining, but he understood well enough. The bit about taking a tall glass of water with a side of respect for his country and culture almost made Undertaker want to applaud him, but he was too delighted with seeing Jase express more of that feisty spirit he'd seen charming little glimpses of, so far.

The poor waiter stood there looking dumbfounded and embarrassed. Undertaker beaconed him, and when he bent over to listen, the reaper grinned broadly and he summarized Jase's rant for him. "He doesn't like you," he whispered.

The waiter straightened up and looked at Jase, clearly flustered. "I...forgive me! I did not know you were from the mother country!" He laughed nervously. "My father was French, you see. I'm afraid my grasp on the language is not so good as yours!"

Beneath his fringe, Undertaker rolled his eyes. "Quit while you're ahead, chap. If you continue to put on that fake accent, I just might let my friend eat _you_ for lunch. By the way, check your watch. It's just a little past noon, not evening."

"Eh...heh...oui...I mean yes sir," answered the waiter nervously, too intimidated by Undertaker's grin and Jase's frown to bother asking what he meant about letting the doll eat him. He took off then, moving as quickly as he could.

When the waiter was gone, Undertaker began to chuckle through his teeth. He closed his mouth over the sound, but he ended up making a peculiar farting sound with his lips as the laughter fought its way out, and he covered his mouth when Jase's head turned to him and tilted.

"Sorry love," muttered the reaper. "That was a golden rant, indeed. Pity most of it was lost on him, but...I'd best go potty. Back in a jiffy."

Now snickering helplessly, Undertaker climbed out of the booth and made his way back through the dining car to the little lavatories near the back.

"Franchement…" The small Frenchman sighed to himself, distracting himself with the menu still setting on the table, though he had no use for it, "Il ne peut même pas parler français..." he paused, realizing that he had been speaking in French, and if the waiter really didn't know the language… "I do hope he knows I ordered a water…"

After relieving his bladder and having a good laugh in the lavatory, Undertaker used the washbowl and wiped his hands off. The waiter returned just as he sat down at the booth again, and undertaker raised his brows as the man sat down a glass full of ice chips before Jase. He placed a glass of Chardonnay before Undertaker and bowed, but the reaper stopped him before he could go.

"What is this?" he asked with a gesture at the glass of ice.

"Ice, sir," answered the waiter nervously. He looked at Jase. "Just as you asked, young sir."

Undertaker face-palmed. Even _he_ had his limits. "He asked for ice-_water_, you buffoon. Just bring us a pitcher of it, and be quick."

The waiter nodded and left again.

The Doll sighed, "I'm sorry…I've caused a bit of a scene, haven't I?"

"Not at all," assured Undertaker lightly. He picked up his wine glass and he held it up to the light, tapping his fingernails against the smooth surface of it. "I don't think anyone paid special attention, save me. I found it highly entertaining to watch you put that phony in his place, my dear. His act was in poor taste. They call me a madman, and even I can see that."

He felt the unsavory presence of the woman he'd seen earlier coming closer, and he frowned. Undertaker looked up and he replaced his wine glass as the attractive blond woman approached. She appeared to be on her way back to the passenger coaches, but she was getting too close.

"Jase," murmured the reaper, "scoot closer to the window."

But it was too late for the doll to comply with his advice, even if he'd tried. The tracks curved and as the train followed it, the slight directional change caused a few standing passengers to require a moment to brace. The woman nearly fell right on top of Jase as she tried to pass by the table, and Undertaker clenched his jaw unconsciously when he saw Jase go tense all over. He was due to have his compulsion reinforced soon, and Undertaker knew the folly of waiting until after lunch to do it when he saw how blank the doll's expression went, and when Jase opened his mouth wide and turned his head toward the blond woman, the reaper acted with inhuman speed.

Undertaker shot out of his booth seat and he helped the woman right herself, placing his body between her and Jase, and turning his back on the doll. He felt the interesting sensation of the Jase's teeth pressing against his right buttock, before withdrawing. It was probably a blessing that Jase's conscious mind typically went dormant when he was overcome by the hunger. If the horror of trying to devour a woman on a train full of passengers weren't enough to traumatize him, nearly sinking his teeth into his master's rump surely would have.

"There you are, Madame," Undertaker said cordially to the woman, doing this best to block her aura from his dollie. She really was a _loathsome_ individual, beneath that pretty exterior. She and her family made their fortune in the flesh trade, smuggling abducted girls to serve as 'entertainment' for those who paid the right price—and those girls were rarely seen or heard from again by their loved ones, once the money exchanged hands.

"Thank you, sir," she said with a pearly smile. She became uneasy at the chilling way he smiled back at her, and she removed her hand from his and excused herself hastily.

Undertaker turned back to his companion to find him lying sprawled in the booth, and there were whispers of curiosity from nearby passengers as he bent over Jase and tried to revive him.

The woman's sin and temptation had been too much for Jase. He'd not had a cooling bath for a few days and his temperature had already been high. But that hunger only made it worse and seconds after trying to take a chunk out of his master's posterior, he'd collapsed due to his inner heat.

"Jase? Come on, now…wake up." He lightly slapped the doll's face, and he hissed at the overwhelming heat he felt. He gathered him into his arms and hefted him up. The waiter saw him getting ready to leave with him, and he called out an inquiry about the food.

"Keep it warm," answered the reaper. "I'll return for it to take it to our booth later. Excuse me…coming through."

He pushed his way through to the exit, and Jase stirred and moaned as he got to the door. "It's all right, love," soothed the reaper, though the heat radiating from the young man felt like it was actually starting to burn him through their clothing. He feared Jase might spontaneously combust in a burst of holy fire, if he didn't cool him off right away.

"I've got you," he promised when Jase's head lolled against his arm and he whimpered.

The Doll was only half aware of everything. His mind was back from going mindless with lust for the flesh of the woman in the Dinning cart, but he felt so hot, he could even feel the fire inside him trying to overwhelm his body. With a moan, he leaned against Undertaker, arms weakly slipping around his cool neck under his curtain of silver hair, "So…h-hot…" he pressed his forehead to the reaper's cheek, as if he could sense the chill of death beneath his skin…he needed it…he needed to cool off, why wasn't it working?

Undertaker got him into their private booth and he locked the door and drew the curtains behind him. He laid the suffering doll down onto his bunk, and he quickly retrieved Jase's canteen from him. He gave it a shake, and he groaned when he realized it was less than half full. That wasn't going to be enough.

Undertaker impulsively reached out to stroke the hair away from Jase's sweating forehead, and he frowned at how rapidly the perspiration dried up. "Hold on, my dear. I'll be back directly."

Without any warning, he opened the canteen and he poured the remaining water over Jase's hair, soaking it. He froze that water immediately with his reaper abilities, making the hair go white with ice crystals.

"That ought to keep your brain from frying, long enough for me to fill this up and come back," he assured the doll, and then he got up and left the booth, canteen in hand.

He saw a service girl approaching to offer damp towels to occupants, to wipe their faces and hands off after their meals. Undertaker waved her over and he took one of the towels with muttered thanks, and he asked her to bring a pitcher of ice water to his booth as soon as she had the chance. He went into the lavatory, filled the canteen and hurried back to the booth.

He found the bed smoldering beneath the Doll's writhing form, Jase's usually pale skin flushing red at a visible pace. The Frenchman whimpered, the ice in his hair melting and evaporating from his roots and any place his long hair touched his body, even through his clothes. He seemed desperate to be cooled, having ripped off his blindfold and vest, his shirt missing buttons and exposing his reddened chest.

Undertaker didn't waste another moment. He swooped over to the bed and he carelessly knocked his hat off of his head and pushed his bangs back, so that he could see better. He unscrewed the canteen and he immediately began to pour the cool water over Jase's heated body. He considered removing his clothing, but he thought it was best to let the water soak into it to retain it. He concentrated as he worked, and the temperature around him and the doll dropped dramatically.

"Shh, love," murmured the reaper when the dazed, swirled blue eyes opened and Jase moaned. "We'll have you cooled off soon...you'll see."

There was a knock at the cabin booth door, and Undertaker reluctantly left Jase's side to answer it. The service girl was on the other side, and she shivered and tried to see past him when fog rolled out as the tall Shinigami opened the door.

"Sir, is everything okay?" she asked with concern, handing over the pitcher of ice water he'd requested.

Undertaker blocked her view and he smiled down at her. "Absolutely. Thanks, love. We'll let you know if we require anything else."

With that said, he shut the door in her face and locked it again, and he returned to Jase's side. The frozen material of his garments was already beginning to thaw, but when he placed a bare hand on the doll's panting chest, he felt that the temperature had dropped a bit. The flush was slowly leaving, but Undertaker wasn't confident that he could let his guard down for even a second. This was the worst he'd ever seen Jase get, and he was sincerely worried that he might lose him, if he wasn't constantly diligent.

He knew that the preternatural coolness of his body comforted his dollie when he got overheated, and when he deliberately manifested death's chill it amplified the effect. People shared warmth to survive in the cold, so there was nothing to say he couldn't share his chill to help his companion survive this consuming heat.

"Well my darling, that leaves only one thing for me to do," he decided aloud. "It might scandalize you, but I promise I'll respect you in the morning."

He couldn't be sure how much of that Jase understood, but now wasn't the time to entertain the doll's modesty. Undertaker straightened up again, and he began to undress.

"Hnn…."Jase, in attempt to reach for the pitcher of water, his vision blurred from the heat and making it more difficult, rolled over and fell onto the floor of the cabin with a dull thud.

Undertaker dropped his robes to the floor and he knelt beside the young man, clucking his tongue. "Clumsy dollie." Deciding that stripping to his pants and boots was enough, he picked Jase up and eased him back onto the bed. He grabbed the pitcher and one of the cups provided with it, and he climbed on with him. It took a bit of finesse, but he got Jase into his lap sidelong and he cradled him as he poured some of the water for him.

"Here," offered the reaper, holding the cup to Jase's lips. "Drink."

He held it steady for him as the doll began to swallow thirstily, and he dropped his own body temperature further, radiating as much cold as he could without making himself sick. Undertaker waited until Jase drank the entire cup, before pouring another one and carefully setting the pitcher aside, leaning it against his hip to keep it from spilling.

"That's it," he encouraged in a dulcet murmur. "Well done."

Once the doll gulped down the second glass of water, his eyes drooped closed, and he lay against Undertaker's delectably cool chest. Yes…this is what he wanted—needed. This comforting cold embrace. He snuggled up against the source of cold and closed his eyes, soaking it up until his mind cleared and he drifted into a deep slumber.

Undertaker sat there hopelessly stunned as the doll drifted off to sleep. He'd expected Jase to struggle a bit, or at the very least to offer an embarrassed protest to being held so intimately, with this much exposed skin pressing against his own. Instead, he settled down right away and snuggled against him in such a trusting, sweet manner that the reaper's mind literally went blank.

"You must have been suffering worse than I imagined," murmured Undertaker at last. He absently stroked Jase's ponytail and back, and he nuzzled the crown of his damp head. He let his aura chill back up again and he shivered impulsively as frost formed on his skin as well as the doll's. He wasn't immune from the cold, after all—just far more resistant to it than humans.

Unwilling to move and risk waking his sleeping companion, Undertaker gave a light shrug and decided to just enjoy the moment for what it was. He held Jase tighter and sighed, enjoying the feel of his body lying so comfortably against his. He fit against him so nicely...as if designed just for him. In fact, Undertaker enjoyed it so much that he soon fell asleep too, with his arms wrapped around his companion protectively.

He was, after all, a cuddler.


	8. What's in a Name

**Just a Doll **

**Chapter 8**

The train turned as it followed the iron tracks across the countryside, shifting the passengers within its carts who were either still sleeping, or starting to awaken and get ready for the day. The shift awoke Jase, who moaned and let his eyes flutter open, though he was so comfortable he didn't wish to get out of bed just yet. And strangely enough, he couldn't remember going to bed. The last he remembered was sitting in the dinning cart shortly after lunch. He didn't care enough to dwell on it, though, as he rolled over with the intent of staying asleep a little longer—only to slide off some sort of raise on the mattress. That wasn't right…

Sitting up and rubbing his swirled blue eyes, he looked over to where he had been sleeping. His pale cheeks flushing as he realized he'd been asleep on none-other than Undertaker himself; and that they were both half naked; his shirt having fallen the rest of the way off in his sleep. He gasped and pressed himself back into the corner of the bed, against two walls of their compartment. Just what had happened yesterday—and why couldn't he remember?

Even in his sleep, Undertaker sensed the absence of his companion's warmth. He grumbled and without even realizing he was doing so, he wriggled closer to the warmth he sensed and he snuggled against it with a sigh, nuzzling the spot where Jase's shoulder met his neck. Contented once more, he drifted further back into slumber.

Jase swallowed. They hadn't….sinned together, had they? No…no, they likely would both be lacking in the rest of their clothing…at least he hoped so. "U-Undertaker…" he croaked with a painfully dry voice as he nudged the reaper.

Undertaker stirred and sighed. "Mmm?" he hummed sleepily, running his nails over the doll's smooth, lithe chest. He pressed a kiss against Jase's neck, still only half-conscious. He frowned a bit when he felt dampness under his hip, but it was a minor annoyance...not worth moving from his comfy position.

"Undertaker, vieux pervers, se réveiller et me dire que nous n'avons rien fait!" Jase panicked slightly.

In his drowsy frame of mind, it took Undertaker a moment to gather his wits and comprehend what his companion had just said to him. He lifted his head off of his shoulder and he looked around through his disheveled bangs with a sleepy frown.

"That isn't very nice, pet," he yawned, covering his mouth with a fist as he sat up. "Calling me a pervert, for shame. I cooled you off when you were about to combust...but I don't suppose you remember that."

He stretched leisurely, arching his back and reaching his arms over his head. He had a slight crick in the neck, so he tilted his head and popped it. Seeing the panicked look on his dollie's face, he started to grin at him.

"What, do you think old Undertaker had his way with you while you were out? Poor, naive dollie...if we had done that, you'd be sore in the bum now, regardless of how gentle I was with you. What have I said to you in the past about your consent in such matters, hmm?"

"I…I couldn't remember anything! I could have gotten—drunk or something!" the Frenchman protested.

Undertaker tilted his head to the side, his smile hardly fading. "On water? My, my...you _must_ be a lightweight!"

Jase's face flushed all over again, "Stop teasing, I'm almost as confused and lost as when I first woke up as a Doll!"

Undertaker toned it down out of courtesy, but he couldn't quite put away his smile. "Ah, you're a darling. Well Jase, I'll explain it to you. The compulsion I put you under before we boarded this train began to wear off while we were in the dining car. Unfortunately, a woman of...shall we say 'questionable' morality came too close for comfort, and she triggered you. I had to bodily intervene but it appears she provoked such a hunger in you that the spark inside of you flared to its burning point. You haven't had a good soak in a while, so this isn't very surprising to me. Long story short, I had to carry you in here, soak you down with water and share the death chill with you to keep you from burning up."

He glanced down at his own bare, scar-striped torso. "That's why we're in this state of undress. Don't worry, my dear; there was no inappropriate touching. I made a promise to you, and I mean to keep it. All I did was hold you."

_And that was found to be quite nice in itself._

Jase nodded and looked down at his knees, "Thank you."

Undertaker shrugged. "I couldn't very well let you burn up now, could I? I'd be a piss-poor friend and an irresponsible master, if I did."

Honestly though, he felt less and less like Jase's 'master' with each day. Instead, he was beginning to feel like a hopeless, smitten suitor, when he wasn't tutoring the doll on anatomy. Undertaker shifted and he frowned when he noticed the dampness beneath him again. He scooted aside and saw the dark spot on the mattress, and of course, he blurted the first thing that sprang to mind.

"You didn't wet the bed, did you?"

"I—I'm not a child, no matter how much I look like one!" Jase snapped, his face even redder, "Besides, I woke up on top of you—you'd be the wet one, not the mattress if it had been me!" He said, getting up and stumbling out of the small bed, grabbing a shirt and throwing it on as he left the cabin, slamming the sliding door shut behind him, only to return seconds later, shielding his eyes from the bright corridor and grabbing his blindfold before leaving again in the same manner.

The reaper stared after his departing dollie, and he couldn't decide whether to be amused or frustrated. "He's quite cranky when he wakes up."

Of course, he'd been teasing him mercilessly, too. He couldn't seem to help it. Undertaker sighed. He was getting too used to having companionship. This wasn't a good thing. He needed to reinforce the agreement they'd made when Jase first woke up, and he needed to just give up his romantic notions that the young man might overcome his church-taught shame and embrace him.

Suddenly, laughter was very hard to come by. Undertaker heaved another sigh, and he shook his head. "It's my own fault," he muttered. "Stupid old fool...why do you always do this to yourself?"

He thought he'd learned his lesson years ago, but apparently not. He moved to get out of the bunk and go find a maintenance person to bring fresh sheets, and his hand bumped against the pitcher he'd forgotten about. That was the source of the dampness he'd rolled in. He and Jase must have knocked it over while they slept.

"Ah well...too late now. The little chap can't take a joke and I can't keep fooling myself."

There were other ways to get physical affection. He didn't really need an emotional or mental connection...just a warm, willing body. Maybe all he really needed was a tumble, and then his head would be clearer and Jase could stop worrying about his advances.

He was so downcast over this latest quarrel that he completely forgot that he hadn't re-applied Jase's compulsion to stop him from attacking humans.

Jase made it down to the lavatory and washed his face before brushing back his hair into a neater ponytail and fixing his shirt—all of which he could have done in their cabin, but he needed the chance to calm himself. He took Undertaker all too seriously when he got flustered—and there was no denying to himself how comfortable and content he'd been laying atop the reaper, pressed against his cool, pale skin… No! There were those sinful thoughts again, and yet…he found that he cared less about the sinful thoughts than he had back in London… He sighed and moved to go back to the cabin, sliding open the door and freezing as he found himself face-to-face with the Blond woman who smiled at him, his mouth watering and his pupils under his blindfold growing wider as his hunger set in. His mind going blank.

Undertaker heard the scream as he finished putting his robe on, but he thought nothing of it at first. He was too depressed to give a damn if someone cut themselves or got into a fight or got caught in a lewd position or any other number of things that could have provoked that sound. Right now, he had more important things on his mind than petty human—

"Oh my god! Get him _off_ of her!" A woman cried.

"Is he rabid?" yelled a man. "I've seen this kind of thing before when people get infected!"

Undertaker realized then that the ruckus he was hearing likely wasn't from any ordinary situation. He'd forgotten to reinforce Jase's "leash".

Cursing and hoping he was wrong, the reaper yanked the door open and stepped out, looking up and down both hallways. He spotted Jase at the southern end of the car, and the little Frenchman was on top of a woman. He appeared to be savaging her and when a nearby young man tried to pull him off, Jase shoved him hard enough to send him flying several feet, to crash into the floor.

Undertaker rushed to stop the young man, speaking in a commanding voice.

"Jase, your master commands you to stop!"

The Doll halted in his actions, but the lust to continue was still obvious to any who looked. He hadn't managed to take a chunk out of the pretty blond, but deep scratches from his teeth could be seen marring her bloody cheek, her hands were wrapped around his neck, trying to keep him off her, and her entire body trembled in fear.

"What the bloody hell is this kid's problem? She screeched, "What kind of child attacks an innocent woman like this?"

"Is he mad?" asked an onlooker.

"Is he ill? Delusional?" asked another.

"Is he in your charge, sir?" a woman asked Undertaker.

Undertaker held his companion close, ready to manifest his death scythe and cut down anyone that tried to harm him. The blonde's declaration of being an "innocent woman" made him want to smirk, but he schooled his face into a calm mask and he spoke in his most professional tone of voice.

"I'm terribly sorry, Madame," he said to the woman courteously. "My companion isn't well, as you can see, and I am his doctor. He suffers Encephalitis; a condition that causes light sensitivity and swelling of the brain. He's usually quite docile, but he's past due for his meds, and I'm afraid sometimes the delusions can be very traumatic for him. The poor chap doesn't know who or where he is, when it happens. I assure you, it wasn't an act of conscious malice."

"What are you doing, bringing a boy with the potential to attack people onto a public train, Doctor? Shouldn't you have him locked up? Why was he walking around alone?" The man who had been thrown back asked, followed by the voice of the blonde.

"What, pray, did he think I was to attack me so?"

"As I said," Undertaker lied, "he's never attacked anyone, before today."

He looked at the blonde woman Jase had attacked. "I have no idea what he was thinking, Madame. The mind of a sick person isn't so easy to predict."

Undertaker turned to the man that had asked the first question. "Ordinarily I wouldn't let him of my sight, but he wandered off while I was dressing."

He shook his bangs out of his eyes and he smiled engagingly at the audience. "Wouldn't do for me to come bounding out in my skivvies, would it? There are ladies present, after all."

"Why'd he listen to you? He wouldn't listen to any of us." One man asked.

"And why on earth would you refer to yourself as 'master' to him?"

For a moment, Undertaker was stuck. He couldn't think of any good reason a doctor would refer to himself as "master" to a patient. Seeing the doubt growing on their faces, he improvised in his usual way. He got the idea when he looked at the blonde Jase had attacked—who was guilty of the human flesh trade.

"Because this lad was one of the servants in a noble family's household, before he fell ill. He saw his lord as something of a father figure, so I find I get better results when I refer to myself as his master. It seems to calm him down more quickly."

He lifted Jase into his arms when the doll's knees began to buckle from the strain of his hunger. "Now if you'll all excuse me, I need to see to my patient. I apologize deeply for this incident, and I vow to keep him confined to our booth or at my immediate side, for the duration of our journey."

One of the train's security personnel stepped forward, having come just in time to witness the end of the conversation. "I'm terribly sorry sir, but I'm afraid you and your companion will have to disembark from this train at the next stop. That's been two incidents so far. We can't have a threat to other passengers remaining on board, no matter what the circumstances are."

Undertaker pursed his lips and he nearly told the man that he'd better toss the blonde woman too then, but they didn't need another scene. "Fair enough."

"That's hardly fair. The boy is sick! What if this doctor is trying to get him to a better place to be treated and cured? You are delaying their journey." One of the onlookers—an older woman who looked as if she could be a grandmother—pressed, "And the only other incident I know of is seeing the poor thing pass out in the Dinning cart yesterday. That is hardly excuse for alarm when passengers' safety is concerned. Why not give him one last chance? The good Doctor says he'll keep a closer eye on the poor dear."

Undertaker smiled at the woman. "Thank you, my dear. Your generous nature is the very milk of human kindness."

The security guard looked uncomfortable as some of the other people voiced soft agreement with the old lady. Hesitant at first, they soon began to argue in Jase's favor—except of course for the women he'd attacked, her companion and the man he'd thrown across the car.

"All right now, that's enough," called the security guard. He looked up at Undertaker warily, then at the young man in his arms. "Doctor, I don't want to be the cause of this young man's treatment being delayed, but we can't have the other passengers endangered for the sake of one boy."

"I understand," assured the reaper, "and I swear to you, I won't allow any further disturbances, if you'll just allow us to remain on board for the rest of our journey. It really isn't his fault; it's mine. I won't make the mistake of letting him out of my sight again."

Jase groaned, and Undertaker shifted him in his arms. The guard looked at the doll and sighed. "I've got a son around his age at home. All right then; you can stay. I give you fair warning though; one more incident and it's out of my hands."

"Of course," agreed the reaper. "Thank you."

He gave the elderly woman that stuck up for them a charming smile and a nod, and then he carried Jase back into the booth they shared. He laid him down on the bunk again, and he took a moment to reinforce his command that he not harm anyone. Once that was done, the retired Shinigami went to his own bunk and plopped down with a sigh.

For someone he was trying not to care about, Jase managed to provoke the most inconvenient protective urges in him.

The Doll groaned and slowly sat up at he came to his mind once more, he blinked, looking around, feeling the dryness of his mouth as he swallowed. "Did…I hurt anyone..?" he asked, turning his somber attention onto the reaper.

Undertaker was rubbing the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, and he shook his head. "Not seriously, no. You gave a slave trader a good scratch, but she'll be all right."

For once, he wasn't smiling as he looked at the doll. "You ran out in a huff again before I could re-apply your conditioning. You were fortunate this time. Now, I know this is more my fault than yours. I should have reinforced your compulsion the moment we woke up, so that bit is on _my_ head, not yours. Having said that, I've got to put my boot down."

Undertaker combed his bangs back again so that Jase could look into his eyes and see how uncommonly serious he was. "No more storming away from me like a child, whenever you suffer a moral breakdown or get tired of my sense of humor. If you've got to be a brat about it, I'd rather you plug your ears and go: 'la, la, la' than run out on me again and lock yourself in a bathroom or try to eat the first morally corrupted wanker you see. Do you understand, Jase?"

Jase sank where he sat in his damp bed, "I—I'm sorry…I needed the time to think…I hadn't realized…that I'd attack someone…I thought you reapplied my forced control…"

"I should have," answered the reaper. "After you passed out in the dining car, I knew it needed to be done. To tell you honestly though, I was more concerned with getting you cooled off than I was for the safety of any humans. You didn't exactly give me the chance to remedy that, after we woke up from our little nap."

"I'm sorry…" he whispered again, "You just…no one has ever been able to get on my nerves as much as you do…and waking up as we did…I was flustered to begin with—I wasn't thinking."

Undertaker sighed, unreasonably wounded by the admission. "I get on your nerves that bad, do I? And here I thought you were just trying not to encourage me."

Feeling resentful, the ancient reaper hopped off of his bed and pulled his trunk out from under it. He opened it up, selected a book and replaced the trunk back underneath the bed. He dropped the book on the bed and he bent over to snatch up Jase's forgotten canteen of water.

"I'm going to refill this now, and I'm locking you in because I swore not to let you out of the booth without my supervision. When I get back, I'm going to lie down and read, and I promise you won't hear a bloody peep from me again unless it's necessary."

He knew he was being the childish one now, but Undertaker was so tired of extending his hand to the living only to have it slapped away, time after time. The dead were truly the only ones that understood him. He needed to stop seeing Jase as a potential friend or lover, despite his previous declarations of friendship. He was just a doll...his precious creation that could lead to further breakthroughs.

Undertaker left the booth with the canteen in hand, locking the door behind him with his key.

Scowling, Jase almost picked up the pillow from his bed and threw it at the sliding cabin door, but he restrained himself, getting up and pulling everything from his bed so that he could flip the mattress and avoid having to sit in a wet spot all day if he was going to be locked away the entire ride like a—pet. Stupid reaper. Why was he even trying to be friends with the cold old man? He had done this to him…turned him into a Bizarre Doll, stole away his death…and for what? Research? To make more intelligent flesh-eating monsters? Jase was merely an object, now. A tool. He wasn't anything special, the reaper just pretended he was, and why? To play with his emotions? To tempt him to fall deep into sin? To not care what he does so that he, too, could be a useful monster? A killer?

He felt as if he were Eve in the garden, his new nature was the forbidden fruit, and Undertaker—Undertaker was the serpent.

Jase would leave, if he weren't so dependant on having his control manipulated so that he wouldn't attack people. He was trapped in a cage without bars, and as much as he wished he could escape and return to a normal life…he wouldn't—couldn't. Because the fact was all too obvious. He was a monster, and he couldn't be trusted around people.

He flopped over onto his bed once he put his carving set away as he'd found it had fallen to the floor under his bunk, and clutched at his chest, a strange but familiar aching starting in his heart. It was all too similar to when the woman he loved had told him she'd be wed to another…but it couldn't be the same! This situation was different! He…he had to only be yearning for his human life…

"Leaving his free will was the first bloody mistake," muttered Undertaker under his breath as he waited for the serving girl to fill the canteen. It was difficult to see Jase as an experiment, when the intransigent little buggar kept saying and doing things to remind him that he really was much more than a flesh automation.

The ancient sighed, his pale lashes fluttering as he lowered his eyes in thought. He should be above this...whatever it was he was feeling. He had the uncomfortable suspicion that he was actually experience that dreadful thing known as pining. He _hungered_ for Jase. Even when their personalities clashed, he found the doll's company infinitely more enjoyable than any other living thing or even dead thing. He was never quite sure what he was going to do next, or how he would react.

At first, he'd thought of it as a game...part of his experiment. He wondered how long it would take for him to seduce such a creature, and he stood to gain physical pleasure out of his efforts, if he succeeded. Somewhere along the line, his courtship became sincere and he began to care more about making Jase happy than endearing him to him.

And here he was, acting like a child himself. Pouting. Sulking.

"Pining," he grumbled, and a rueful smile curved his mouth. And now it was too late to go back. Undertaker was ruined. Silence had lost it's value with him when he talked to the dead…he wanted that interaction…a response. "Touché, mon petit ami. You've managed to do to me what none others have."

A distasteful frown curved his lips, as soon as the words left his mouth. A young man passed by and he gave Undertaker a little nod of respect, evidently having heard that he was a doctor. The reaper nodded back absently and forced the frown off of his face, and he offered a smile to the serving girl when she returned with the filled canteen.

"Ah, thank you very much, my dear. I'm afraid I'll be pestering you for more later in the day, as my patient suffers terrible thirst as a side effect of his medications."

She smiled up at him, blushing with maidenly admiration for his charming smile, even though she was clearly just as intimidated by him as most other humans. "I will bring a pitcher of water with each of your meals from now on, if you're sincerely going to dine in your booth, from now on."

"I think it's for the best that my companion and I keep to ourselves as much as possible," he answered, "and thank you, that would be lovely."

He took the canteen from her, kissed the top of her hand and returned to the passenger car with his booth.

He found Jase lying curled up on the bed with his hand pressed against his chest, and concern immediately replaced his childish resentment, for the moment. He went to his side and squatted there, searching his face. His eyes were shut, and there were traces of tears on his face. It was difficult to tell if the pain in his expression was physical or emotional.

_'You were too harsh with him, old chap. You left him with feelings to go along with the free will, and he's a sensitive dollie.'_

The childish part of him wanted to just leave it be, because in his mind, all he'd done was tease him a bit and Jase had been deliberately hurtful. The adult in him that had been around since creation reminded himself that his teasing might have been hurtful to the doll.

Conflicted, Undertaker reached out to stroke his hair. "Are you in pain?" He reckoned it counted as a necessary question.

Jase opened his eyes, his blindfold having been removed while he cleaned up his bunk and letting his eyes meet Undertaker's gaze. He didn't want to answer—he wanted to ignore the reaper, let him know he's won… he has himself a stupid doll he could do anything with regardless of Jase's own thoughts or feelings. But that, too, would be childish, and he did always hate it when he was often confused with being a choir boy rather than a priest when he was human, why act like a child when he was an adult and likes to be treated as such? After a moment's pause for these thoughts to go through his head, he parted his lips and glanced away, "…Not Physically, no. Just…realizing the truth in things."

He shouldn't keep talking to him. He needed to stay firm with his dollie and teach him that he wasn't some pushover that would melt the minute those pretty blue eyes looked at him so tearfully and...and...

"Bugger." Undertaker heaved a deep sigh. He was at the mercy of something stronger than lust, and he knew it. "Why don't you share, pet? We may have opposing ideas of that truth. I think it's time we both get on the same page."

He offered the canteen to him, and he suffered a strange ache inside at the sight of his unhappiness, so clear on his handsome young face.

The doll sat up and took the canteen, opening it and drinking to help quench that undying thirst he lived with. He then closed it and set it aside, looking at the reaper strait-on, "I'm just a doll." He stated bluntly, "Just your play thing and experiment. An object that you have only been kind to in letting me think I was more than that. But if I leave you, I won't be an object—but a monster, having no leash to control me. I'd attack like all the Dolls before me. I promised you I wouldn't leave—because I didn't wish to be that monster. And I still don't. But you…don't have to pretend I'm something I'm not. Free will…" The doll gave a small, half-hearted laugh, "I don't even have free will from myself."

Undertaker thought about what he'd said. This was his greatest test. He should agree with the boy now, and banish these feelings he had for him before they interfered with his common sense. He had the Reaper Dispatch after him, he had more bizarre dolls to make for his associates, and he still had so much to discover about life and death. Now wasn't the time to allow himself to fall in love for the first time, much less with one of his own creations.

The cold practicality of his thoughts evidently had no dominion over his mouth or his heart, however. When he parted his lips to speak, his words completely contradicted his logical thoughts.

"I see. Well, I have to disagree with you."

When Jase's swirled blue eyes met his in confusion, Undertaker watched with amazement as his own hand reached out to stroke the soft brown locks of hair away from the doll's forehead. He traced the thin scar tissue he found there, forever marking Jase as an experiment.

"I've never put as much effort into bringing a genuine smile to a face, as I have with you," confessed Undertaker. "I've never kept anyone living around for longer than necessary, because I find their incessant chatter tiresome, petty or preachy."

He shrugged. "You have your moments like anyone else, but I find you have things of value to say, more often than not. You're interesting to me, and not just because of your physiology. I've tried to tell you this before, but perhaps I didn't sincerely believe it. Honestly, I thought you only extended the hand of friendship to me because you felt you had no choice. It's the logical thing to do, isn't it? Try to make the best of a bad situation. That's how we all survive, and it's universal."

Undertaker heaved a sigh and pulled his hand away, looking down. He tugged his hat off and tossed it absently onto his bed, running his fingers through his hair. He felt a headache coming on, because he was fighting an inner battle. Should he tell him? How could he declare feelings he wasn't even sure of, himself?

"I'm not sure what I'm trying to say," murmured the reaper, "except that my old heart won't let me see you as just a doll, or just an experiment. My mind wants me to, surely, but it's not happening."

He lifted his head and looked at Jase through the partial concealment of his bangs. "I don't know if it's love. I've got not basis for comparison. All I know is I wouldn't care this much, if you were just a 'thing' to me. At least try to take some comfort in that, even if you despise me for what I did to you."

"I don't despise you…" Jase's voice cut in, in a low tone, "Undertaker, even if it was for…scientific reasons…just to see what would happen or if you could…you saved my life—changed it forever, yes, but you did what I had always thought angels would do." He took a deep breath and looked down, his fingers running over the chain of his pocket watch, feeling the wooden beads from his rosary, "You are Death, and they are angels, yet they gave me death for trying to follow Heaven's teachings…and you saved me and brought me back. You switched places with those heavenly messengers—even if it was for a second. And you continue to take care of me. You get me water when I need it, cool me off when the fire within me grows too great—you stop me from killing people when my mind goes as empty as a child's toy. You are more than my master and creator…you are my guardian angel. You came to me when even God had forsaken me—I could never hate you for that."

Somewhere during his speech, tears started to slide down his pale cheeks again, and he brushed them aside, "If you hadn't done what you had…where would I be? Just another soul in that 'library' you had spoken of? Awaiting judgment? Where would I be sent? Hell? Heaven? Both are equally unpleasant to me at this point. You kept me on Earth, in the land of the living."

Undertaker was stunned speechless for a moment. He had to sincerely turn those words over in his mind and examine them closely, before he could find the wit to speak again. He reached out to wipe the tears from Jase's cheeks with his thumbs, tilting his head. He wanted to kiss him, but he didn't dare try...not right now.

"Can't say anyone's ever compared me to a guardian angel before, love."

Was that his voice, so oddly husky and hesitant? Why were his eyes burning? His vision started to blur and he frowned and hastily reached beneath his bangs to wipe away the moisture that had gathered. He pulled his hand away and stared at his fingertips, perplexed. He'd shed a tear of sadness here and there, when he felt sorrow for a mortal in his earliest years of reaping, or when he lost a pet. Most of the time his tears were provoked by mirth. He couldn't explain why his eyes were watering now, or why his throat felt so tight. It wasn't sadness...

"I think...I may be getting ill," said the reaper uncertainly. Disease was so very uncommon amongst his kind, though, and he could think of nothing that could account for this.

"You…never saved a life before like you had me, either" Jase pointed out, "You collected souls—and brought the dead back to a mindless—something. It's not really a life my brothers lead…I'm the first you have saved…" Jase paused and lay his hand over Undertaker's, "You keep people at a distance…and you intimidate them, but you kept me close enough where I could see the real you. And yes, you grate on my nerves sometimes—but I'm sure I do the same. We aren't humans—but we are not that far off—we aren't perfect….and now I feel like I'm preaching again…not even at the altar or in a confessional…Sorry…I got used to long-winded speeches working as a man of the cloth…even on a personal level it's a habit…"

Undertaker smiled, shaking his head. "No, you're sharing your thoughts, and that isn't a bad thing at all. Perhaps you're right. I've spent what feels like an eternity ferrying souls to the afterlife, from doing so literally to collecting their life's deeds in the form of records. My dealings have always been with the dead, even when I retired."

He looked at the hand lying on top of his, and he sighed and held it gently. "If I could, I would erase both our memories of how we came to know each other. I would like to sit down and chat with you as something other than Death, Jase. I would like you to chat with me as something other than a doll, too."

The cautionary part of him begged Undertaker to stop talking. He was revealing far, far too much to his companion, but he didn't know how to stop. The dead kept his secrets...it was safe to talk to them, because they had no voice to share them. He bowed his head again, struggling with himself. Where was the laughter? He couldn't find it. All he had at this moment was an almost desperate need to connect with this creature, this glorious, unique being that he had somehow dragged from the jaws of death and was still trying to understand.

"We can't help what we are…it doesn't mean that is who we are." The Doll pointed out.

Undertaker found that to be a very profound observation. He smiled at him, and he covered Jase's hand with both of his, holding it between them. So small, his hand was, but calloused with the labor of his art and strong in its own right.

"I've always bore the name of what I am," he murmured. The train shifted a little on the tracks and he balanced himself to compensate. He released Jase's hand and he sat down next to him on the bunk, dragging his hair out of his eyes with his fingers. "I was simply Death, when I was with the organization. Now they refer to me as the 'Legendary Death'—which I find ironically funny, since they're doing their best to track me down and imprison me. So much for adulation."

He sighed and looked at his companion. "I named myself what I chose to become, after that. Undertaker. I went from being the reaper of souls to a manager of the dead." He looked at his pale hands and he absently curled his fingers, wondering _who_ he was, beneath the Legendary Death and the Undertaker.

Jase took his hand again, "Just because you are called 'Death', doesn't make you so…remember…you are not 'death' to me…you have proven you are more than that."

Undertaker looked at the hand holding his. The difference in pigment was startling, though Jase was fair-skinned, himself. "If I accept that I'm not just Death to you, would you accept that you aren't just a doll to me?"

The Frenchman nodded, "But…could you do me a favor? When you lock the door…can you do it to keep others that may trigger me out, rather than keep me in? I don't want to feel caged…."

Undertaker chuckled without humor. "I put my foot in my mouth with that, didn't I?" He brought Jase's hand to his cheek, and he looked into his eyes. "To be totally honest with you, that was my intention in the first place. I was being childish and resentful. Seems even a fossil like myself is capable of such nonsense."

He turned his head to impulsively kiss Jase's palm, and he told his cold practicality to bugger off. He was caught up in the moment, and he'd never had one quite like _this_ before, with anyone.

"When you attacked that woman in the hallway, I didn't give a toss whether she lived or died. My only concern was for you, Jase. I would have reaped them all, if any one of those humans had tried to lay a harmful finger on you."

He realized what he'd just said and he visibly flinched, releasing the doll's hand and looking away. "That was...my goodness, did all of that just come from me?"

"I…I know what you meant by that, Undertaker…but I do hope you wouldn't ever act on such impulses…if that woman was the only one I attacked, then the others can be assumed to be innocent, right?"

Undertaker shrugged. "Nobody in this world is truly 'innocent', but the onlookers weren't guilty of anything too terribly sinful. A little old lady even stuck up for you."

He smiled at the memory. "I think I should like to send her a care package. She's a surprisingly hardy little thing. She'll outlive her own daughter."

"I'd like to thank her as well…" Jase said with a small smile.

"Then perhaps we can find her again, before our journey is over," suggested Undertaker. "I'm sure she'd like to hear you thank her yourself."

He looked down again, suddenly troubled. The old lady had a name. Jase had a name. All humans had names of their own...even slaves, if their masters permitted it. The other reapers all had individual names. He, on the other hand, had no name, other than the simple name of what he was, given to him upon his creation, and the name of what he chose to do when he retired. It had never bothered him before, but it did now. He was more than a title.

"Jase, I think I would like you to name me."

"Name you? As a parent would a child?" Jase asked, "You want me to?"

"People are given names by those who love them," answered the reaper. "Traditionally at birth. I don't know if you could ever love me, since I hardly understand what love means. Still, I've never had a real name, before; not as you know them."

He raised his eyes to the Frenchman again, and he smiled softly. "It seems like a foolish thing to ask. Perhaps it is, but I would like to know that at least one person in this world knows me by a name other than 'Death' or 'Undertaker'. It can be _your_ name for me, Jase. Consider it your brand on your master."

He smirked a little at the end, but his eyes remained sincere.

Jase nodded, leaning back against the wall and looking into the distance, though the small cabin restricted what he wasn't really looking at. He took a deep breath through his nose as he thought about a name. So many didn't seem to fit the reaper—certainly not any modern names…biblical also seemed not to fit. However, he wasn't an uneducated man of the bible. He hadn't followed _as_ blindly as some. He had researched into other cultures and religions as well, knowing he could have been sent to a non-Christian world to spread the word of God. He had wanted to understand where others were coming from…and one rather old name from those studies seemed to reach out to him after a long moment dwelling on different possibilities… "Chronus."

Undertaker repeated the name softly, tasting it on his tongue. His lips curved into a crooked smile of irony. God of time, god of death, what was the difference? Both eventually put an end to human life, but this time...ah, this time he'd been given the name by someone that saw something besides death, when they looked at him. It was refreshing and liberating, and he smiled wider and nodded.

"Chronus, it is. I think I like that." It was Jase's name for him, somewhat like a pet name, but much more powerful. Undertaker's own connection to the doll made it so, and he could feel it. "Use that name when you're in true danger, or whenever you believe I am. It's a link to me; not nearly as powerful as a Faustian brand, but it will allow you to call to me."

There was a knock at the door, and a familiar female voice called out. "Doctor, I've brought you the lunch you requested!"

"Ah," sighed the reaper, suddenly remembering how bloody hungry he was. He never got the chance to eat the evening before, or this morning. He got to his feet and opened the door, smiling at the young lady bearing the food cart.

"You are a very welcome sight, my dear," he greeted, taking her hand to place a kiss on the top of it. "Did you bring water for my companion?"

"Yes sir," she answered, blushing. She held the sterling silver pitcher up. "If you don't need it just yet, I can leave it here with the tray. Are you _certain_ this will be enough food for the both of you?"

Undertaker mentally winced. He'd forgotten to order a little more food than he needed, to avoid rousing suspicion. "My patient hasn't been able to keep much down," he fabricated, "hence the request for water. I share a few nibbles from my plate with him for now, until he can eat more without getting sick."

"Poor thing," she sighed, glancing past him to Jase. She reached out timidly to place a delicate hand on Undertaker's arm, and her hazel eyes lit up with intrigue. "If you need me for _anything_ else, sir, just ask for Vanessa."

Undertaker grinned at her, catching on. He couldn't even imagine having anyone except for Jase in his bed right now, but it was nice to know he had options. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind, love."

Jase pursed his lips, having overheard the conversation. The young woman's offer hadn't escaped his notice, but really, it was her tone that made him jump to a conclusion, and he could be reading far too much into it, so he said nothing. Though it did bother him somewhere in the back of his mind, and he didn't quite know why.

Undertaker wheeled his dinner tray in with the pitcher and he sighed as he sat down and lifted the cover to breath in the aroma of shepherd's pie. He poured a glass of water for himself, and he looked at his companion. It would be rude of him to eat in front of him, without at least offering. That was one thing about Jase's condition that still bothered him—the uncommon guilt he felt every time he savored a meal in his presence.

"I know you don't have a need for food anymore, but would you like some?"

Jase shook his head, "You know I can't enjoy it…I can only taste blood and flesh…" he said sadly. This was the cruelest part of his new life—not even being able to savor the flavor of his favorite foods.

"Yes, I know." Undertaker felt another rare stirring of pity for him. "We'll continue to monitor your condition, love. Maybe some day, I'll find a solution."

He thought about the problem as he began to eat. He would honestly like it if he could do that for him, but he suspected that the gratification he got from eating the flesh of the wicked was closely linked to the holy spark inside of him, and that had the effect of dulling his sense of taste for everything else. It was like Hell. Forever thirsty, food turning to ash in his mouth—figuratively speaking—Jase fit the description of the eternally damned...

...And Undertaker made him that way.

No matter that the doll claimed not to hate him for it. The more he watched Jase suffer, the more Undertaker began to wish he'd just left him to die when he found him, or performed a mercy killing to end his suffering.

It was far too late for that now, though. He very much doubted he could raise his scythe against him, and even if he could, there was no guarantee that it would free the doll's soul. The tampering that Undertaker had already done to his cinematic records might prevent his spirit from ever escaping into the afterlife, without aggressive intervention.

The reaper sighed, and suddenly the food didn't taste so good to him, either.

As the reaper ate, Jase crawled over to the end of his bed and opened the chest resting just off it's edge and dug through it for one of his books to study. He sighed and sat back, opening it to the chapter he was working on learning. He did enjoy learning medical things, though he did still have problems with the terms. Grabbing the pitcher of water, he filled a glass and sipped it as he read.

Undertaker watched him covertly as he finished his meal, and he rolled the dining cart back out the door and locked it when he was finished. He checked his pocket watch as he sat down on his bunk, and he mentally reviewed their location and destination.

"We've only got to put up with these cramped quarters for a couple of days," he said consolingly to the doll. "After that, we'll have a place out in the contryside to stay for a while, and you'll have a lot more freedom to move around. I think if this experience has taught me anything, it's that trains aren't an ideal method of travel for the likes of us."

He smirked. "We'll definitely be taking our own carriage out of Germany and into France. It won't be luxurious and we'll have to take frequent stops along the way to eat, sleep and...er...relieve ourselves, but we'll get there eventually. I'll be sure and have everything from the Düsseldorf home transported by train, so we'll only have our trunks to worry about along the way."

"Mhh." Jade nodded and finished the paragraph before looking up at Undertaker, "Safer for others, at least. And that's what matters."

Undertaker chose not to comment on that. He looked at the medical journal Jase was reading, and he blew a soft whistle. He almost remarked on his surprise that the doll was reading such an advanced book with his current level of training, and he thought about asking if he wanted some help. They weren't officially having lessons on the train though, and he felt he'd already patronized the little Frenchman enough for the day. If Jase wanted to challenge himself, then so be it. Undertaker spared a grin at him, before stretching out on his stomach to resume reading his choice of literature.

As he picked up where he left off on _Macbeth_, he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for his dollie that had nothing to do with paternal feelings.

* * *

**AN:** So, If anyone is interested, Jase has his own RP/Ask blog on Tumblr. His URL is Undeaddollboy. Feel free to go interact with him! (Please? :3)


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